


Charlatan (formerly "The Malkin Jewel")

by barkbarkbarknomseurface



Series: The Bad Time Brigade: Awful Gift Fics For Authors Who Hurt My Soul [1]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: AND ATTEMPTS AT FLUFF, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, And Friendship, And Husk, Angst, Arson, Attempted Murder, Blame Maximum-Overboner for this, Body Horror, Child Murder, Dark, Darkfic, Fire, Gift Fic, Hallucinations, Hive Mind, If you haven't read maxis work then none of this will make sense, Immolation, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Suicide, It doesn't quite line up with it, MUTHAFUCKIN FIRE, Mild Gore, Multi, Murder, My First Fanfic, NOW WITH DELIRIUM, One-Sided Attraction, One-Sided Relationship, Papyrus is roaming the void, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Possession, Read IFFK, Recreational Drug Use, Riverperson is..., Strange., Suicide, W. D. Gaster is not related to Skelebros, and pancakes, parasite grossness
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-04
Updated: 2017-09-01
Packaged: 2018-08-13 01:30:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 15
Words: 34,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7956871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/barkbarkbarknomseurface/pseuds/barkbarkbarknomseurface
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“ENOUGH OF THIS NONSENSE”, 'Papyrus' mutters as he grasps at her snarling maw, narrowly dodging the snap of her fangs. “THIS WAS OVER BEFORE IT STARTED.”</p><p>Despite the burgeoning loss of sensation, she eyes him balefully from the ground full of defiance. Toriel rises slowly but surely, every motion holding promises of a fight he'd never forget should he come close.</p><p>“Like hell, whelp.”</p><p>Gaster blinks.</p><p>Well.</p><p>This was new.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Time To Pretend

**Author's Note:**

  * For [maximum_overboner](https://archiveofourown.org/users/maximum_overboner/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Husk](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6171454) by [maximum_overboner](https://archiveofourown.org/users/maximum_overboner/pseuds/maximum_overboner). 
  * Inspired by [I'm Feeling Fine, Kid](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5170061) by [maximum_overboner](https://archiveofourown.org/users/maximum_overboner/pseuds/maximum_overboner). 
  * Inspired by [Pancakes](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7927327) by [maximum_overboner](https://archiveofourown.org/users/maximum_overboner/pseuds/maximum_overboner). 



> Inspired by Husk, this fic expands upon some "what-if's" I considered while reading The Exchange series, such as:
> 
> What if Gaster got bored and possession-happy? What if things with Undyne went differently? What if Toriel got roped into this mess?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'll give to you the shrapnel with which to sprinkle in her soil
> 
> Or, "Alphys needs a hug; Papyrus needs an ADULT"

  
“Kneel.”

  
Papyrus complies, bony limbs clattering into the snow. Eyelights settling in the empty space between him and Gaster, he offers his arms without complaint. With a quirk of his pale brow, Gaster circles around to his back. He strokes the shrapnel reverently as he ponders which one would be best this time around, finally settling on a long, thin shard the length of his palm. How efficient things were now. To think that all it took to ensure such compliance was-

  
“ONLY ME THIS TIME.”

  
Ah. He was being distracted. That wouldn't do. There would be plenty of time for that later tonight. And for many more nights to come.

  
He approaches silently, and with languid strokes palms the dense bone of Papyrus' (no, _his_ ) vertebrae.

  
“Arms down.”

  
To his credit, Papyrus doesn't protest. Such grim obedience would have made for a great soldier indeed.

  
_There was a time, several in fact, when he had ran. A time when he thought he had gotten away. Papyrus had nearly made it to New Home before he noticed the deathly silence and the scent of dust in the stagnant air. But he kept running, ignoring the bit of his former self disgusted by such cowardice. His breath scorched his nonexistent lungs, bones like lead as he stumbled to the elevator. Maybe he could jump into the core? He hadn't particularly given his destination any real thought, but surely…surely it could be better than this? Better than the taste of salt and shame and blueberries, better than “i hate you” and “you’re hurting me” and “I LOVE YOU”s that felt like ash in his mouth. Now that he thought about it, the core would do quite nicely. Stepping away from the elevator, he sets his determined gaze upon the walkway’s edge. He doesn't hear the door open in his brisk approach to the rail._

  
_“AND MAYBE, IF I’M LUCKY…I'LL SEE THE SHORE AGAIN”_

  
_The conjured hands grip him before he even has a chance to scream. They clasp his jaw shut, wrenching his head down to expose his sweet spot: the fragile cervical vertebrae at the base of the skull. A second, (warm?? furry??) set of hands drives the shrapnel in-between the bones with a worryingly practiced ease._

  
_“No. You won't.”_

  
_Gaster had one piece of shrapnel left by the time he caught up to him. At the time he was simply pissed; Papyrus had proven himself tenacious yet again, if not a bit feeble-minded. But by fleeing that snowy clearing (like coward, like a worm, like a pathetic cur with his tail tucked between his legs…how unsightly!), he had given Gaster ample time to plan, to play, to…browse…and, most distressingly, to practice. The first few monsters dusted immediately when he occupied their husks. The next batch didn't last long either, but made for a wonderful learning experience. Instead of wasting valuable time and resources preparing a new vessel, now it all came down to one. One shard. One swift puncture to the neck (and back of the more fleshy monsters). One new marionette._

  
Papyrus had learned his lesson since then. Running got more people roped into this. He thought he had known the lengths Gaster would go to, had hoped beyond hope that if he could just get away then…then…

  
“Head down.”

  
No matter. He was wrong.

  
“JUST LET ALPHYS GO…YOU HAVE ME.”

  
The clawed hands guiding the sliver into his spine are nearly affectionate in their gentleness. The initial feeling is sharp and visceral, like breaking a rotten tooth. Papyrus doesn't flinch. But it's what comes after that has him wishing he could retch. Stuck at the strange area between numbness and the last scraps of sensation, he almost doesn't feel his head tilt left and right violently. What he does feel (and oh, how he wishes he hadn't), is the snapping of metal between his bones like twigs underfoot, obliterated and pulverized by his magic infused bones, made small…laughably small. And woefully efficient.

  
“PLEASE, I BEG OF YOU…NO ONE ELSE…”

  
Tunnel vision sets in, and in the edges of his fading reality he sees the washed out watercolor tones of the place he can never bring himself to call home. He settles in, the fight he used to possess wrung out of him through what could be years, would be eons, and should have never been.

  
“ _PLEASE_.” he whispers into the void.

  
“No.”

  
Papyrus sobs.

 

* * *

The…acquisition of his current form had gone better than usual. After the last dozen resets wherein Papyrus had become more and more complacent; he didn't even need to ask him for his arm this time.

  
But if Gaster was honest with himself, such a limited perspective of interaction was becoming stale. So stale in fact, that he’d tracked down a human soul just to break up the monotony this time. He needed more; more stimuli, more control, more Sans…but how to go about it? Undyne had taken herself out of play from the start, having refused to give him the advantage out of sheer spite but…she hadn't accounted for Alphys handling her remains. The delicate balance he had to establish would be for naught if he…Papyrus...pushed for more too soon.

  
That said nothing for _her_.

  
“Y-you can't be serious…he doesn't want me, he doesn't w-want anyone!”

  
Had he spoken out loud? Oh dear.

  
He rises out of the frigid snow, straightening the scarf and wiping the slush from his knobby knees. With a fluid gesture, he summons a blaster. Perfectly formed, not a fault or crack to be seen.

  
“I see I've outlived my p-purpose, huh?”

  
“QUITE.”

  
It hovers at her back, the growing aroma of ozone becomes more oppressive with each passing second.

  
“Fuck _you_ , Gaster.”, she spits.

  
He silences her with a flash. The errant breeze disturbs the dust she leaves behind, revealing the tiny, insidious specks that made it all possible. He removes a glove before he plucks them from the ground. Wouldn't want to sully himself.  
Scanning the surrounding forest, he spots it; a small brick precipice leading to the ruins. Shrapnel in hand, he makes his way beneath the ledge. He presses himself flush against the wall, just in time to avoid being spotted by the large figure sprinting off the ledge.

  
Right on time.

* * *

  
“Keep the change!”, Toriel shouts, so giddy she misses the counter top entirely when she tosses the gold coins. She nearly knocks the door off the hinges as she leaves the shop. “Geez, lady! What’s yer rush? Y’ got all the time in the world!”, the shopkeeper squeaks out of the doorway. “Not today, friend! I’ve got company!”, she titters. With a wave of her fuzzy hand and a quick farewell, Toriel runs back towards the ruins, taking the snowy path past the sentry stations. “Going home first would be best…”, she mutters to herself. How fortunate she was to have found such a poor innocent youth! The child seemed frightened out of their skin. It wouldn’t do to have them waiting alone in the ruins for much longer, but…such an occasion called for something _extra_. Imagine, a fallen child who wanted to stay! She tucks away the canisters of cinnamon and…butter…scotch??

  
“YOU DROPPED THIS!”

  
If the loud clunk of boots upon the snow mounds hadn't snapped her out of her reverie, that voice certainly had. It's shrill and excited, and the lanky bag of bones it belongs to seems friendly enough…radiating warmth and sincerity. But there's something wrong about him, something hollow in his greeting and calculating in his steps as he approaches her. Something both familiar and unsettling. Remembering what that “something” is proves futile, like grasping at wisps of smoke…but there's no denying the fearful thud her soul makes within her. It beats out a warning, but what did she have to fear from a fellow monster? She turns to face him.

“Ah, my thanks-“

He's much closer to her than she anticipated.

“HERE YOU GO! YOU WERE IN SUCH A RUSH, I THOUGHT I'D LOSE YOU!”

In his outstretched hand lies the tin of butterscotch. She almost snatches it from him in an effort to cut their interaction short…that is until her eyes catch the unwelcome glint of something metal clutched in his other glove. Alarm mars her features sooner than she can hide it.

“IS SOMETHING THE MATTER?”

She glances once more at the gloved hand to find…nothing. Only empty cloth.

“I-…you…there was…”

Looking him over once more, the emergent fear in her soul becomes downright unreasonable. Before her was an amicable youth, barely into adulthood. Somewhat odd in mannerisms, but…so was Chara at one point, and she had loved them regardless.

“Oh my…pardon me, my child. I seem to be at a loss today…”

She gently plucks the tin out of his (still) outstretched hand. Stepping back, she grinds out a brief “thank you” before she turns to resume her travels.

“THINK NOTHING OF IT, TORIEL.”

 

Wait.

The vicious chill up her spine is but a simple prelude to the pain blossoming through her back like a flame consuming tinder. The crook of his elbow is around her neck, forcing her backward at an awkward angle…but the heel of his palm, that which caught her eye too late, has jammed something into her so deeply she feels it scraping at her very soul. Toriel's fine claws scrabble for purchase against his bones as the strength of her legs wanes. She kicks out, ignoring the strange numbness settling into her limbs, only to lose her footing on that damned tin and collapse in the snow. Feebly, she summons her fireballs with a strangled rasp. They fade to dying embers before her.

“ENOUGH OF THIS NONSENSE”, 'Papyrus' mutters as he grasps at her snarling maw, narrowly dodging the snap of her fangs. “THIS WAS OVER BEFORE IT STARTED.”

Despite the burgeoning loss of sensation, she eyes him balefully from the ground full of defiance. Toriel rises slowly but surely, every motion holding promises of a fight he'd never forget should he come close.

“Like hell, _whelp_.”

  
Gaster blinks.

Well.

This was new.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mood tunes for this chapter: "The Malkin Jewel" by The Mars Volta and "Time to Pretend" by MGMT
> 
> Okay so.... 
> 
> I'm stepping back from this for a minute. This was originally supposed to be a short drabble and it's snowballing into...WHATEVER THE FUCK THIS IS. Which is cool. But those of you who know me are already aware of the fact that I get migraines out the wazoo and can't look at bright things like cell phone and tablet screens for very long. So! I'm taking a break, and I'll come back to this to tweak some things and continue this. 
> 
> Once again, check out maximum_overboner's work. This is a gift to her, inspired by IFFK/Husk/Pancakes (I sure hope I did her work justice, oh boy). She's the bee's knees! 
> 
> Hmu at Tumblr! barkbarkbarknomseurface@tumblr


	2. Watchmen Of Our Ways

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'll be waiting up all night for you  
> In a nightmare that was made for me
> 
> Or, "All Aboard The Feels Train" *toot toot*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the slow update! If you're still reading this, or have been eagerly awaiting it, you're a trooper. Thank you for your patience.
> 
> This was...super difficult to write, actually! I kept getting derailed by bullshit and life shit. I do plan on continuing this, and boy oh boy, do I have some plans...
> 
> Mood tunes for this chapter: "Who Watches The Watchmen" and "The Going Price For Home" by The Prize Fighter Inferno

_He built her up to the task at hand; empty promises of a life with Alphys, with Papyrus…a life where her strength and sacrifice would be rewarded with hope. She gazes upon the throng of bar patrons roaming the dark streets, monster and human alike. So many souls. So many witnesses. 'Be vigilant.’, he says. ‘We cannot afford any distractions. Undyne, blessed Hero-'_

  
_"Enough of that crap. Look there."_

  
_The red soul-...no...human in question exits a crowded bar. Jovial shouts and wolf-whistles echo their departure, and as she looks into their face, ruddy with intoxication and joy and laughter and all the things that she longed to see in Alphys...in her friends..._

  
_Her mind is made up._

  
_"Fuck it. We have our mark."_

  
_Crouched in the shadows, she watches as they make their way to the alley for a quick smoke. She stalks closely behind them, but when the flick of the lighter illuminates their face once more she stops and rises, head held high._

  
_'What are you doing? Stealth is our ally!', Gaster hisses in her soul._

  
_"I'm not a fuckin' sneak-thief.", she replies as she conjures a spear. "I will take their life with honor. They will **know** me." _

  
_'That will be unnecessary...', he sighs._

  
_"You! Human!" The human startles with a yelp, flinging both the lighter and the pack of smokes in a nearby puddle. She sizes them up, gripping the spear so tight that it creaks against the pressure. Sweat or blood coats her hand; she doesn't care enough to find out which. Undyne raises the spear slowly, and they flinch at the implication. "I'll let you try to flee, punk. But it won't change anything."_

  
_They look...pensive for a moment. Glancing around, they take in the location of all the exits in the alleyway. When they finally look back at her, all fear and apprehension has drained out of their eyes. They step into the sickly yellow light streaming from the nearby streetlights, arms spread wide. "I know your type. You're a good person, I can tell. But you're probably thinking that you’ve got no choice, right? You don't seem like someone who'd do this just because."_

  
_"Shut up."_

  
_"It's okay," they say as they step closer. "Let's just....put the spear down....and chill out for a bit." The human smiles then; a triumphant and knowing grin. "You’ve never killed before, have you?"_

  
_"Shut. Up.", she growls._

  
_"A true killer, someone who's numb to the process...they'd have offed me by now. You wanted to look me in the eye. Do you know why?"_

  
_"I. Said. Shut. Up." She doesn't want to know. The spear is flickering in her grasp and she fights herself to keep it from becoming intangible. Tremors shudder through her arms and legs as they speak. She needed to silence them. The oily presence in the back of her mind concurs._

  
_"I know why. It's your last out. The last moment before there's no turning back from what you'd become. You're scared. You wanted to see for yourself, you thought you would see something in me that would justify killing me. Did you find anything? I don't think you did. But you don't wanna face it."_

  
_'Enough of this, Undyne. Alphys needs you.'_

  
_"SHUT UP!", she shouts at the two of them. Her spear dissolves completely as the human approaches. They're within striking range now._

  
_"It's okay. Let's face it together."_

  
_' **Now.'**_

* * *

Undyne waits at the beach. She's not sure if there's much else to this place. She's not sure who she's waiting for. She's not even sure if she _wants_  to see anyone she cares for here. Still, she waits; heels embedded into the fine sand as she watches the cresting waves. A silent sentry.

  
The feeling of Peace in this place grates at her. All her life she had been motion and vitality, raging against circumstance, against the bondage of her brethren. Not once in her life had she ever felt a calm like this, like a balm to her very soul.

  
She hates it.

  
Does she even deserve Peace? She thinks on how she came to be here, and on all the things she had done before making her choice.

  
Their face ought to be burned into her eyelids with how much she thinks of it. And, no...she has come to the conclusion that she indeed does not deserve Peace. What in the hell would Peace ever be to _her_? She had failed in her duty to protect; failed her entire people, even! She put her entire species back under a goddamn mountain, just to be deceived. And even if by some miracle of fate she could fix this, it really wouldn't do a damn thing for the guilt. He had made her hurt Papyrus. He didn't make her kill that human. If Papyrus ever found out...would he be able to forgive her?

  
Gentle, trusting Papyrus. Always-seeing-the-best-in-everyone Papyrus. How could that…thing…do something so vile to someone like him? Her thoughts are derailed when she notices; her wait here isn't nearly as long as she'd like.

  
“Alphys…?”

  
The monster in question is a waterlogged mess, bobbing along as errant waves push her towards the sand. “Undy-!”, she sputters, having the misfortune of opening her mouth just as seafoam and salty spray hit her face. Face first and gasping, she falls into the sand. “Undyne! W-what is this place?”

  
For a brief moment, she finds that ease...that Peace she'd been denied for every second of every never-ending day here. But even that is torn from her with a vengeance. Alphys is here, unharmed...

  
No. Alphys is dead.

  
Her webbed fingers are clenched tight and stiff, the jagged points of her teeth strain against one another as she grinds them.

She's filled with…so many things.

  
“What are you doing here?! You're not supposed to-…I wanted you to-… _god-dammit!!”_

  
When Alphys rises to her feet, she takes a moment; not to shout, or cry. Simply to observe; recording every ridge and plane of her face. Every wrinkle, every scale....every single detail from the furrow of her brow, to the unshed tears waiting to spill from her two golden eyes. When this began, Alphys thought that if she ever saw Undyne again, that she'd have a few choice words for her. Maybe even insist on an explanation. But this?

  
“I wanted you to be happy…to be safe. So why… _how are you here?!_ ”, Undyne snaps.

  
Observation aside, she's at a loss as to what to do with this.

  
“It was anime night…You n-never came.”, Alphys starts. Her hands begin to tremble, but she steels herself against the anxious feeling stirring within her soul.

  
There's an anguished snarl threatening to bubble out of Undyne's throat. It's still so much, too much. She's wrung out, scraped bare and choking on her words all at once. How dare she feel relief in this, but how can she not? Alphys is here, safe, but if she's here she's dead. That isn't what she wanted! She wanted her to be happy. She wanted her to be _happy!_ This wasn't what she wanted. She wanted, _she wanted-_

  
Plump, scaled hands rake through her hair lovingly. Alphys cradles her close like some delicate, beautifully fragile thing. It's very different, but not unwelcome. Undyne sags into the embrace; a forlorn mess, frantic emotions have left her soul tense and frayed. She looks down into her pale face with a mix of shame and sorrow.

  
“Why are you here so soon…?”

  
She leans into Undyne, breathing in the scent of the crimson locks betwixt her fingers. It grounds her, keeps her firmly in the here and now instead of there…with him. So she takes a few more steady breaths. Easy, slow and deep. There. It's enough, she thinks. Undyne is enough.

  
“I went to your house…a-and I found your d-dust. It was the only bit of you I had left. So w-when I heard your voice…I thought…”

  
_“Alphys, no-“_

  
“-I thought wrong, okay? I-I thought w-wrong, b-but it's okay IT'S OKAY I-I C-CAN F-FIX THIS I KNOW IT IF I J-JUST GET A CHANCE!”

  
“It doesn't _work like that-!_ “

  
“I C-C-CAN H-HELP YOU, _I KNOW IT, I know it IknowitIjustgotta-_ “

  
“Alphys, there's _no saving any of us!"_

  
" _W-WHY ARE YOU GIVING UP ON ME?!_ "

  
Those unshed tears fall and Alphys grasps at her shoulders roughly. “This is m-my fault. He t-told me what you d-did. That h-human. I know you d-d-did it because of me.”, she sobs. "B-but coming here...choosing not to fight...its a c-cop out. That's not y-you...that's not the Undyne I love."

  
Had she really heard that right? Alphys really loved her? She presses her face into her webbed hands and scrubs away the tears. Love, acceptance...all that was great, fine. Far more than she felt she deserved, but fine. However, there were a few things that she had to make absolutely, one-hundred percent, irrevocably clear...

  
"Yo, nerd...", Undyne steps close, cupping Alphys' chin to look her square in the eye. Her fierce gaze softens, but there's no mistaking the seriousness of her tone. “I wanted you to be happy. I wanted you all to be safe. Do you know what he can do? What he did do, when I didn't come straight here?"

  
The squat lizard straightens. "I know what he d-did to me. The void, he called it. U-used me to...", she rubs at her arms subconsciously. "H-he used me to p-possess Papyrus."

  
Undyne cracks a wan, mirthless smile as she peers into the endless horizon. "Join the club, punk.", she murmurs. An uneasy silence settles between the two, and Alphys takes the opportunity to just...be...for a moment. To reflect, and to bask in stillness they shared here. She wondered, how long would this last? Once he grew bored again, would she remember? Would she be able to change things?

  
"You know, I'd have waited a thousand years, a million lifetimes here…if it meant you lived a joyful life.” Alphys lets out a breathy gasp, but is cut off with a quick, "Lemme finish." Undyne takes her hand then, feather light strokes along Alphys' scaly palm contrasting her gruff tone as she continues. "This shit wasn't easy, you know. I fought like hell at first. Fought, and lost, and lost some more. I bought Papyrus enough time to run before. And then the game changed; it wasn't just about...wearing me like a fuckin' suit anymore."

  
That grim smile graces her face once more and the reflexive jerk of her hand doesn't go unnoticed. "You got off easy. He made me kill you first."

  
Alphys' palms grow more clammy by the second as she processes this. "A-and the others...?", she nearly whispers.

  
"He wanted more suits."

* * *

  
Frisk punches Toriel's number into the cell phone once more. She hasn't answered a single call. Not. One. She doesn't answer this one, either.

  
With a shaky breath, they rise from their spot beside the pillar. For once, they had no intention of leaving this room until she returned. Heh. So much for that. They make their way towards Home, not even sparing a kind word or a curt nod to the whimsuns that frequent the area. It's not like there would be any point in doing so this time around, they reason. Things....aren't the way they used to be. No doubt that Papyrus would be waiting for them in Snowdin with a disarming smile and a blaster in tow. Their chest aches upon recollection.

  
So instead, they would stay here with Toriel. Indefinitely. Or at least, that was the plan, before she had ran off for ingredients. They had begged, _pleaded_ for her to stay; beseeching her with pleas rooted in a very real fear of what could happen to them if a certain someone came for them in her absence ( _"_ _Nonsense, my child! No monster worth their dust would flat out...raze your entrails, you said? What a vivid imagination you have!" They scoff at the thought. Easy for you to say, lady; nobody ever ripped you open like a cheap bag of popato chisps and barbecued your organs via blaster_ ). But, she left anyway. And this time her little grocery trip was taking far too long. What if she ran into trouble? No, that didn't make sense; Monsters don't hurt other monsters.

* * *

  
He's on the ground, spitting out yet another mouthful of blood and teeth. Gaster barely has time to roll out of the way of the white-hot wave of flames careening towards him. _This was a calculated risk_ , he reassures himself. _A calculated risk that would be well worth the injury if she would just let her damn guard down but for a moment_. He grunts in aggravation as he dodges the massive paw aimed for his temple. This would've been over by now had he not needed her relatively intact. What the hell was she _made_ of?

  
_'I HOPE SHE BREAKS HER FOOT OFF IN YOUR ASS.'_

  
_Nobody asked you, Papyrus._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, such wonders I have planned for you all...
> 
> Once again, check out Maximum-Overboner's work! This is a gift fic inspired by her works, so give them a peek!
> 
> Also, Not-So-Fun Fact: that bit with Undyne talking to the human....I talked to actual, real life murderers for that. I couldn't justify the reason why she'd want to look them in the eye, and at first, I thought it was just going to be about her sense of honor, but that felt really inorganic. I happen to know a murderer or two, so I asked for their input. And...Here we are. 
> 
> Don't ever think I don't love you shits.


	3. Caveat Emptor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rattling the laughter  
> Hinges splintering inside 
> 
> Or, "Gaster Was Talking All that Good Shit Till He Caught A Fireball To The Face"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was originally going to be one giant update, but I'm splitting it into 3, possibly 4 chapters for pacing. 
> 
> If you still read this fanfiction of a fanfiction... wow, you are just the bee's knees, aren'tcha? Don't you forget it! *smooshes yer face*
> 
> Mood tunes for this chapter: "(The Haunt Of) Roulette Dares" by The Mars Volta

He fled the first chance he got. It hadn’t surprised Toriel in the least. The youth had strength and ego to spare, no doubt about it…but he was holding back. He obviously hadn’t wanted or expected a real fight; his earlier attempt to simply incapacitate her spoke as much. So what was the point then? Asgore wasn’t stupid enough to try to make her return, not like this. Provoking her then running away, what sort of childish tactic was that? Unless...unless…

Did he know about the human? Was this all ruse to keep her from being able to protect them? If this was true, following him would be tantamount to walking into an ambush…but leaving him to his own devices was ill-advised. That sack of bones must be dealt with; the safety of her child was at stake.

“Try to lead me into a trap, will you?” she grumbles, quite perturbed by the prospect. The tall goat woman observes her surroundings, finally settling on the lofty treetops. Gouging the nearest tree with a pained sigh and ignoring the numbness that had been growing on her since the beginning of their encounter, she embeds her clawed feet into the chalky bark to scale the trunk before her.

“Two can play that game.”

 

* * *

  
Gaster’s lanky bones clatter into the brush. He’s trying to be careful; creeping quietly to avoid detection from the enraged behemoth. But his host body is worn down, he suspects he may be going in circles, and all previous pretenses of this altercation being evenly matched have been lost as he wearily stumbles through the dense woods. Every step feels like there's lava within his marrow, and (despite the peak condition of his host)...he thinks that, maybe...perhaps there was a ( _very slight!_ ) miscalculation in this part of the plan. He would simply have to reevaluate his approach! How pitiful would it be to have come so far and to have done so much, timeline after timeline, just to be thwarted by _Toriel_? No, he wouldn't stand for it. She'd be brought to heel; he'd make sure of it. He plots quietly to himself...

 _‘YOU KNOW...I'VE HEARD THAT PRIDE OFTEN COMES BEFORE A FALL...'_ , Papyrus snickers.

Or not.

 _‘Papyrus, I swear to all that is holy, if this is some sort of quip about the Core, I am going to flay the next fluffy creature I see.’_ Gaster mutters, stooped besides an old, withered birch as he listens for the telltale crunch of Toriel’s paws in the snow. There’s the shifting of leaves under his own feet, then stillness. Silence.

_‘NO, THAT’S JUST LOW HANGING FRUIT. YOU REALLY THINK, WITH THE AMPLE AMOUNT OF TIME I’VE GOT TO DO NOTHING MORE THAN ROAM THE VOID AND…OH, I DON’T KNOW, **CURSE THE FOUL WOMB THAT BIRTHED YOUR SHAMBLING PLAGUE OF AN EXISTENCE-** ‘_

_‘You’re being petty.’_ , he sighs internally. There’s a barely perceptible swish of fabric in the bushes on the other side of tree. He presses himself flush against the stark white bark, summoning a bone just in case.

_‘-THAT I’D WASTE MY WORDS ON SOMETHING SO…PROVINCIAL? HA! NOT WITH THIS ROYAL FUCKITUDE AFOOT!’_

_‘One; that is neither a word, nor a term. Two; even if it was, this situation would not be described as such. It. Is. Under. Control.’_ Gaster grits his remaining teeth hard while he peeks around his hiding spot to the bush. There’s…nothing. But he knew he heard something! His quarry was around here. Somewhere.

And…hunting him. Not like she stood a chance ultimately, but he supposed he could commend her efforts, however futile.

_‘THERE GOES THAT PRIDE AGAIN! NOW...’_

The creak of branches above him is the only warning he receives as a towering mass of fangs, fur, and fire descends upon him from on high.

_‘HOW ABOUT THAT FALL?’_

He raises his arm to shield his face from the scorching blaze erupting from her muzzle, but the oppressive heat sends him reeling. Blinded, he desperately tries to dodge the incoming swipes of her claws. She digs into him hard; tearing into his battle body like cheap tin foil, fingers clenched tight and entwined around his floating ribs and his clavicle as she rams him into the birch. “NO! N-NO, PUT ME DOWN!” Gaster shrieks, high and shrill, as she raises him overhead with a heaving snarl. A cacophony of Papyrus’ laughter rings within his consciousness.

“I could….tear you apart…” Toriel pants. To illustrate the point further, she gives the bones within her vise-like grip an experimental yank. He flails then, summoning errant bone attacks left and right, malformed and thin, with the faintest slivers of an impossible black within their osseous core…too small to inflict any real damage…

And all of which missing their intended target.

Toriel snorts heartily, lowering him to eye level. “That’s it? That’s all you’ve got?” She leans in close; nasal bone to warm snout. “You assault _me_ , antagonize _me_ …stab me in the back like a coward, no less! You thought you were in for an easy fight, child? You were wrong.” Her paws begin to radiate an alarming amount of heat along his bare bones. “I don’t care what you thought you had to gain from fucking with me; you thought wrong. This is over, weakling. You’re done here. **Concede.** Or I end you.”

Gaster gives a weak nod and raises his hands in surrender.

She’s too pleased with his submission to notice the faint glow of blue magic encasing his hands, too numb to feel the crackle of magic as the previous bone attacks are suspended in mid-air behind her and propelled into her flesh. But what she does feel, as her consciousness is dragged towards the oblivion of the void…is rage.

Oh, how Gaster wished she didn’t.

 

* * *

 

It was official; she was late. And not “chatting with the shopkeeper” late, or “intimidating all the froggits on the way back” late. Late enough for the hearth to die down and for the shadows cast by the fire to grow long and haunting. Late enough for the house to settle, causing Frisk to jump with every groan of the basement steps. Anxiously they curl up, knees beneath their chin, in the oversized armchair by the fireplace. The plush upholstery smells of butterscotch, cinnamon, and the warm, motherly scent that is so distinctly Toriel. Although it gives them a fleeting moment of comfort, they can’t help the fearful tears that spring to their eyes.

“Please be okay, Mom…” Frisk whimpers, trudging along to the spare room with a heavy heart. Dejectedly, they slip beneath the dusty blankets and drift into a fitful sleep, hoping beyond hope that upon waking they’d find a slice of butterscotch pie, more snail facts than they could stand, and most importantly…a goat mom to share it all with.

* * *

  
_“Must you make everything so difficult?”_

With the utmost care, he pries her entangled fingers loose from his ribcage and, wincing, lands on his coccyx in the snow. Standing, Gaster observes his newly occupied husk with wonder. He battles with her to keep it stock still as he observes its form, the very second of acquisition rendered near-motionless by his will. Her soul is clinging to what used to be herself, sticking to his new host like taffy in his molars. She won’t leave, won’t sink completely into the dark trench of the void.

 _“Wouldn’t it be easier to just give in?”_ She refuses to speak, so concentrated she is on the exacting feat of sheer defiance she’s undertaken. Her thoughts are nothing more than a single-minded fury; wrath compounded upon wrath, she pits her soul against his oily consciousness.

She is the dam to his flood, determined to outlast him.

Time to divert the river.

 _“Fine. Keep it, then.”_ Battered and broken, he walks away from her inert figure and makes his way back to the main road before he rescinds his wavering control. He feels her rise in an instant, and manic glee overtakes him as he discerns where she’s headed.

Home.

 


	4. In Absentia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Opt out of incision  
> Tear down the reason  
> I just gotta get out of here
> 
> Or, "Void Buddies! Yay!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mood tunes for this chapter: "Feed The Horses" by Thank You Scientist and "In Absentia" by The Mars Volta

_This is what dying must feel like._

The ruins pitch and sway in time with the feverish thud of Toriel’s soul. Dust and blood sluice from her back with every step; it sticks heavily to her robe and her fur like a gory paste. Breathing is an endeavor unto itself, as something leaden is choking off her magic. Pale, cracked faces bare their teeth at her. Multitudes of hands reach out from every dark corner. Inky specters disrupt her vision, mocking her with eyes full of contempt. Familiar walls fade as they vacillate to a strange world of blistering white.

“Hey!” “Oh my God…somebody find a healer…” “Help her!”

_Too loud…_

A few panic-stricken monsters come to her aid when she collapses into the dead leaves. Their voices become warped; metallic and discordant in her ears…it won’t stop…w̛on̴'t stop͠… **w͇̣ǫ̼n̡'̝̯ț̴ ͚̗͠s͉̙͞t͎op̬̫͢**

“S’okay…’m fine…just gotta…gotta get home.” Toriel murmurs, shrugging off their unwanted assistance. The ground beneath her is an undulating wave of black, black, inconceivable black…the depths pitted with a legion of fractured masks. They smile.

“Lady. You’re trailing dust all over, let us help, okay?” Whimsuns and vegetoids gingerly inspect her extensive wounds, trying at length not to irritate the injuries. Light exposes the dark splinters and with grim curiosity, the monsters set about removing the largest sliver. It refuses; thrashing and snaking from their grasp like a living, creeping thing.

“Did you see that?”

“What the fuck is that!?”

“No! Stop! S-s-stop…!” she keens, retching into the soil. She sees him, then.

The youth from the woods.

The skeleton is mostly nude, and his bleached bones stand out in contrast to the one article of clothing he wears now; a worn, red scarf. He, too, vacillates as he fades in time with that world of white, gazing upon her with a mixture of pity and sadness.

_‘PLEASE…LET THEM HELP. YOU DON’T WANT TO END UP HERE.’_

Another yank at the slick shrapnel sets her wailing and recoiling from their touch. It doesn’t give; instead it writhes within her back, knitting itself into her flesh…a wreath of snakes around her magic. The monster working on her gags.

“We gotta get this out of you…it ain’t…it ain’t right. I’m gonna need something sharp, guys!”

A voice, so similar to her own, shrieks in frantic warning. _‘Can’t you see? They’re working with that skeleton! The human…you’ve got to protect the human! Hurry home!’_

“G-get away from me! Get back, all of you!” Toriel growls, springing to her feet in a mad burst of energy. The monsters give the snapping and snarling woman a wide berth, making themselves scarce when she lashes out an arcing flame in her panicked daze. On unfeeling legs, she sprints toward her home with more strength than she should reasonably be able to muster, past the dusky tree, and vaults through the front door with a crash.

She should be standing in her foyer, noting the gentle snoring of the human in the spare room which has ceased upon her arrival. She should be walking to the kitchen, heedful not to make much noise, stoking the waning fire with her magic as she steps through the living room. She should be preparing a crust for her signature snail pie, since the butterscotch and cinnamon she purchased were lost in the snowy brawl. Instead, she wanders static fields of wheat, idyllic fields of lush greenery that set her on edge with their perfection, and Gaster does it on her behalf.

* * *

 

Frisk wakes with a start, bounding from the bed instinctively when they hear the door cave in. Unsteady footfalls echo throughout the hall, and the infrequent shuffling of… _whoever_ …is offset by the deathly stillness of the house.

_Gotta hide…gotta hide, holy shit-_

They glance around the room frantically, and with haste, the child slides under the bed; the thumping footsteps are coming closer. Pressed flat to the floorboards, the child dares not move, whimper, or even breathe as the intruder strides into the room. Frisk peeks past the toy box blocking them from view…

_That is NOT mom._

It wears her face, her skin…it even has a slice of pie for them, but the mannerisms are something altogether perverse. They’re ill-fitting; rigid where they should be fluid, mechanical where loving warmth once stood. In a word: dangerous.

With baited breath they watch “Toriel” enter, pausing to place the dish on the floor. She doesn’t move…just waits a couple of beats before she takes her leave. Now illuminated by the hallway lights, her mud-caked paws, dusty wounds and leaf mottled fur are revealed. She’s…she’s…

_She’s looking right at me!_

Her fangs glint under the light when she smiles, hollow and malicious. “It is rude to stare, my child.”

* * *

 

Toriel walks. She walks until her feet should feel tired, until she should be out of breath, until her limbs should ache and her brow should be covered in sweat. But there is no tiring here…nothing to feel, no visible passage of time. She shouts at the unchanging sky, and her voice echoes endlessly into nothingness. She calls for help…

“YOU SHOULD HAVE LET THEM HELP YOU.” Papyrus sighs, flat on his back in the wheat field.

Balking at his sudden appearance, Toriel blusters, “You! Where have you taken me?! What is this place?”

Papyrus ignores the question entirely, gazing instead upon the colorless sky above with a morose expression. It's a long time before he responds, plainly, “IF YOU WOULD HAVE LET THEM HELP, YOU’D HAVE BEEN TO THE SHORE BY NOW. IT'S QUITE A LOVELY BEACH.”

The goat woman circles him, wary and predatory as she continues her inquisition. “Your accomplices, you mean?”, she seethes. “They weren't helping me! You and your acquaintances were trying to keep me from protecting the human!”

“I HAVE NO SUCH THING, AND NO SUCH POWER. MAYBE IF THINGS HAD ENDED UP DIFFERENTLY, I'D HAVE SOME ACQUAINTANCES. HELL, I'D GIVE MY LEFT ARM TO BE…WELL, _NOT_ HERE...OR TO HAVE SOMEONE COME TO ME WHEN _I_ NEEDED HELP. WAY TO SQUANDER THAT OPPORTUNITY, BY THE WAY.” he glowers at her, rising from his spot on the ground.

“You…you attacked me, and they were hurting me-!”

“THEY WERE THE BEST CHANCE YOU HAD!” Papyrus bellows. The wind whips bitterly around them for but a moment, scraping at the picturesque landscape violently before it settles back into stasis. He composes himself before he continues. “EVERYTHING ELSE IS JUST WALKING AND WAITING AND PLOTTING AND SUFFERING AND! AND YOU! YOU WANT TO KNOW WHERE YOU ARE?”

The skeleton grabs Toriel, and in a feat of spite (always, _always_ spite) coalesces them both into the tangible world. Their destination is mildly dusty, poorly lit, and had he been here in any other circumstances, he would consider it cozy.

The doppelganger in the middle of the room makes it decidedly not so.

Papyrus stares “her” down; insipid and nigh indifferent to her appearance. “WELCOME TO HELL.”, he says. The… _thing_ wearing Toriel’s skin beams at them, then. It doesn’t reach their eyes, nor does it look the least bit earnest, and Toriel (the _real_ one) is hard pressed not to shudder at the implications before her. The human is here; she can tell from the unmade bed, and they are trapped in a house with a beast masquerading in her flesh. How could she protect them from herself?

 _‘How melodramatic. Don't you get tired of being so theatrical?’_ Gaster’s voice bears down on her from all directions, everywhere and nowhere, flooding her few remaining senses. He feels nauseating, oily…she desperately wants to scrub herself of the sensation.

“Let me go. Right now. I don’t know what sort of illusion this is, but you will cease this or I will-“

_‘You'll what? Fight me? Kill me? Try it. And I don't even mean that as a come on, I’m making a point. Try.’_

She shakes off Papyrus, making to lunge at the imposter, before the intense exertion hits her like a ton of bricks. The void snaps into view, giving way to the verdant clearing, and Gaster gloats from his ill-gotten husk. ‘ _You've lost, children. Get over yourselves.’_

* * *

 

“What have you done to me?!”

“NOT ME. HIM. I KNOW YOU SAW HIM, THERE’S NO WAY YOU DIDN’T. HE WAS IN THE RUINS. AS WAS I.”

Toriel wheels on him, shaking with indignation. “That doesn’t make sense!”, she screams. “I fought _you_! In the woods!”

“YES…I SUPPOSE THAT’S WHAT IT SEEMED LIKE. SOME SKELETON GUY STABS YOU OUT OF NOWHERE, OF COURSE YOU’RE GOING TO TAKE IT AT FACE VALUE. NOBODY INSTANTLY JUMPS TO ‘A SOULLESS ELDRITCH ABOMINATION HAS STOLEN THIS MAN’S BODY AND USING IT ON A RAPEY, HEDONISTIC JOYRIDE ACROSS TIME’.”

 

She tastes snails. 


	5. Poachers In Your Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All the things we do when you're away. 
> 
> Or, "Eyy, real talk, y'all might wanna start heeding those tags for this chapter and those to come. TW:suicide."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mood tunes for this chapter: "Wayne Andrews, The Old Bee Keeper" by The Prize Fighter Inferno and "Day of the Baphomets" by The Mars Volta. 
> 
> ... 
> 
> I'm really into prog rock.

_Thirty minutes late._

_“M-maybe she's just busy…”_

_The drinks are getting warm on the counter, and thankfully Alphys hadn't started the ramen yet, otherwise it would have long since gone cold. She fidgets in her dress; Mettaton had helped her pick it out just for the occasion. That's not to say that it was a date! It was most definitely not…although she wouldn't be averse to the idea! Undyne was a fun, kind friend…with lovely scales…confidence to boot…flowing crimson locks that a (neglected) part of her just wanted to give a good, hard yank-_

  _…_

_“Geez…c-calm your thirsty ass…haha.” Alphys flushes, smoothing down the fabric of her dress for what had to have been the hundredth time. “Gotta rein that in…she’s not even…here yet. Huh.”_

  _An hour._

  _Undyne was never late. Always said it was contrary to a fighting spirit; dishonorable to waste someone's time when you give your word. She'd always shown up early for the other anime nights for just that reason, and Alphys had been anxiously looking forward to chatting a bit before they got too into watching shows. But it wasn't unreasonable that she'd be too busy to hang out; she had a job, and a very important one at that. Any number of things could have come up…_

_That doesn't explain why she won't answer the phone._

  _“NGAAAH!! This is Undyne, Captain of the Royal Guard! I'm probably out training, or teaching this nerd-” “HELLO!” “-how to cook with passion! Leave a message, punk!”_

  _Beep!_

  _“Hey, Undyne! J-just reminding you that…um. We were gonna hang out. D-did you forget? Call me when you get this.”_  

_Beep!_

_“Uh...h-hi again. It's m-me, Alphys. Still waiting on you! B-but of course you p-probably already know that. U-um…I’ve got some r-really good s-series lined up for tonight! I w-won't start without you!“_

_Beep!_

_“A-are you m-m-mad at m-m-me?? I d-don’t know what I did wrong…p-please call me b-b-back?”_

_Beep!_

_“In h-hindsight, that may h-have sounded melodramatic and needy. J-just…l-let me know you're okay when you get a chance.”_

_Beep!_

_“U-undyne?”_

_Beep!_

_“Undyne, y-you're scaring me.”_

_Beep!_

_“I’m coming over.”_

_The ride to Waterfall is a blur. The walk to Undyne’s house is, too. The only thing she remembers (with disturbing clarity, no less) is the way her dust caught the light of the room. It's everywhere; starting from her bedroom, trailing to the table and all the way to the front door…like she had-...no. Undyne wasn't like that; she wouldn't have gotten a bit too intent with the wrong of a spear and the right mindset to die. Nah, that was just Alphys. Right? This had to have been an accident…but even that doesn't make sense! The only thing Undyne ever did by accident was set things on fire! She wants to scream, to sob, to get angry…_

_But she knows how it feels to not want to be alive anymore. So she won't._

_She steps as gingerly as she can over Undyne’s remains, grabs an empty tin (“G-golden Flower tea…it was your f-f-favorite.”), and with shaking hands, sets about collecting her dust. Making Asgore or (heaven forbid) Papyrus do it would be cruel, too cruel. She could do it for her. Even though she was utter garbage, even though she was a terrible friend for not noticing how much pain Undyne had to have been in to do this, even though she had been too engulfed in her own mire of shit…she could honor her, it was the least she could do-_

_‘Alphys…? Oh, Alphys it's alright, I'm here.’_

_“H-how!?” She nearly drops the container in horror when she hears her voice. It couldn't be Undyne! She was dead, and gone, and in a fucking tea box-_

_‘I'm in the pieces, babe. Look in your palm.’_

_Glancing at her scaly hand, she notices_ **_it_ ** _; an ebony sliver from which light seems to flee. It unnerved her, like looking into a deep chasm, and although the scientist in her is distressed at “Undyne’s” next words..._

_‘You can put me back together. I need you, Alphys.’_

_...She smothers her doubt; Undyne_ **_needed_ ** _her. Desperately, she salvages every piece._

_‘Thank you…oh, thank you so much. There's only one last thing I need you to do…”_

 

* * *

  


“Hey…” Undyne, the one beside her, pulls her from her thoughts. “Earlier, you said that you could fix this. What did you mean by that?”

Earlier, earlier…ah! The stuttering sob fest they had when she first arrived. She had wanted to forget that. “I-it's just a theory I have. But I n-need more information…to make it a success. I remember what happened with the core now, and I can already gather what's up with that shrapnel, but…” Alphys trails off.

“But?”

“I need to know more about this place.” _And it makes me uncomfortable asking you, since apparently you die enough to come here often._

If the subject was a sore one, Undyne gives no indication. “What about it? It's peaceful as tits, the sun don't set, and there's always a human that pops up here before we go back-”

“Y-yes! Things like that!” she squeaks excitedly. “There's n-no real progression of time here, but there have to be some sort of indications of when we're close to a reset. We're gonna need that so we can properly utilize our time, or lack thereof…”

“Alphys?” Undyne looks on, bewildered at her newfound energy as she paces the beach.

“Considering that you remember coming here in the previous timelines, I'd hazard the guess that we'd remember what we plan here as well-”

“Alphys…”

“-but we're gonna need to be quick about acquiring the necessary provisions when we transition. If we can make it to the Observation Room with-”

“Alphys!” she finally shouts.

“O-oh! S-sorry!” Alphys stops, mid stride. The lizard monster looks sheepish, unable to look Undyne in the eye.

“Look, it's great that you might have a plan to stop this goopy fuck, but can we like, slow down? You're not telling me anything…” Undyne reaches out, placing a warm hand on her shoulder. She doesn't make eye contact, either. “How can I help if you…if you…”

_Oh, Undyne._

“I'm s-sorry…not just for getting ahead of myself, but…back then, I...I should've tried to talk or…s-something.”

Undyne sighs deeply. “I understand now. Not gonna lie, I didn't use to. But things have…changed.” She clears her throat, and taking a deep breath, smiles at the lizard monster as cheerily as she can muster. “So! What can I do for you?”

“T-that depends. Ever try your hand at mechanical engineering?”

“Uh…” Undyne pales.

“...Are you good at math?”

“Um." 

“Do you do well in hot places?”

“You know I don't! I make spears! I play piano! I fuckin’ suplex boulders-”

“Good enough! Now, here's what we're g-gonna do…”

 

* * *

 

He realized that he did not like eating snails. Perhaps it was the texture of them, or their bodies; limbless, viscous, watching the world move leagues ahead of them while they are left in the dust. No, he hated the taste, loathed the heady symbolism more…but he'd eat them nonetheless, out of spite. He had conquered his former self, seated himself comfortably within the tangible. So he'd eat those odious snails; crush those wriggling blobs betwixt his molars in an act of triumph, enjoy his new host, and when he had dealt with his human charge, he'd throw himself headlong into all the food and wine and sex and _Sans_ he could-

“Aren't you supposed to cook those?”

“Pardon?”

Frisk eyes ‘Toriel’ with barely concealed suspicion. “The snails. The ones in the pie are still raw.” They present their slice to ‘her’; the little  mollusks are making their way steadily to the edge of the plate. “If you're gonna pretend to be Mom, step your game up, scrub.” they mutter.

“Oh! I'm sorry, my child. I seem to be…” _restraining from the urge wring your insolent neck, you petulant little shi-_ “At a loss today. I've been so distracted, I must have forgotten.” Gaster rises from the armchair by the fire, carrying both of their plates to the kitchen. Frisk follows close behind.  

“So.”

“So…?”

“We're just not gonna talk about you walking around in Toriel’s skin? We're gonna act like I don't notice you look like you got fucking mauled? That's what we're gonna do?” They block off the doorway,  looking up at ‘Toriel’ hatefully. “You don't even act like her.”

“It's…” _which to use…ah. That would suffice_. “It's the resets, Frisk.”

“What did you call me…? How do you know about that?”

“You’ve altered the timeline beyond repair. I'm sure you've noticed, but things have changed so, so much…as have I.” ‘Toriel’ quietly sobs.  “Monsters are attacking one another without mercy. I didn't want to worry you…and all I've done is make you distrust me!”

Disbelief graces their face briefly, followed by shock, fear, and-

 

 _Ah,_ _there it is. Guilt._

 

“I…I caused this…?” The blood drains from their face; they clutch themselves tightly in the doorway, knees trembling.

“It's ok, it's not your fault that you lack self control. You are but a child after all.” Frisk looks as if they want to vomit.

 

_Good._

 

‘She’ continues, “I'm so glad that you are staying this time. You might not believe me, but while I was out, a lanky, talking skeleton attacked me! He was looking for you, but I did not tell him of your whereabouts, child. As you can see I'm a bit worse for the wear…” 

Fear etches their youthful face once more before they whimper out,  “Papyrus did this?!”

“Worry not, my child! You know I would give my life to protect you!”

And know they did. They thought back to all the times Toriel died by their hand; trying to keep them from leaving, trying to keep them safe from the rest of the underground. Maybe she had been right all along.

“Okay mom. I'm sorry I ever doubted you…”

 

* * *

 

“He…stole your body?”

 

Toriel gapes at Papyrus, seeing him with new eyes. He's not quite breathing; his breaths are erratic, either staccato or absent altogether. Almost as if…he no longer needed to breathe, but clung to the action out of habit. Every bit of him, from the scarf he wears right down to his tarsals, is wavering…sloughing off into nothingness, surrounding them, only to reassemble before her eyes as if nothing happened. Bright red cloth to threadbare rags; stark white bones to chalky dust.

“Oh God, I…I don't feel alive…” The sole sensations she can feel drive home the gravity of his words. The taste of (raw?? Ugh!) snails, fleeting warmth, the scent of tears…the human’s voice.

Papyrus grips the battered scarf to himself, inhaling its scent a moment before he replies. “YOU GET USED TO IT.”

 “What do you mean ‘you get used to it’?!” She jerks back as if slapped. “There are two of us now; we can try to get out of here!”

 **“NO.”** His tone, icy and severe, leaves no room for argument, and she pulls herself up to her full height in response.

“...Excuse me?”

“WE'RE NOT GOING ANYWHERE.”

“You can't be serious! If we simply work together-”

 “SHH!” Papyrus quickly motions for silence, before he continues. “HE KNOWS…HE LISTENS, ALWAYS. IF YOU MEDDLE,  THEN HE WILL ESCALATE TO SOMETHING MUCH, MUCH WORSE JUST TO REMIND US OF OUR PLACE. PLEASE, DON'T.”

Sharp and clear, Gaster’s thoughts seep into her mind. Baseless debauchery, things she took for granted and things she'd never want  echo within her ears. She's loath to keep listening…that is, until she hears his plans for the human.

“My child…they need me. Now. I must try.” 

With a defeated, knowing whisper, he turns his back on her. “YOU WILL FAIL.”

“You don't know that!”

“I DO!” he shouts, voice breaking. “YOU'LL FAIL JUST LIKE I DID! YOU'LL DRAG MORE INNOCENTS INTO THIS FOR NOTHING MORE THAN...THAN YOUR FUCKING HUBRIS!”

 

Was he…crying?

 

“YOU THINK YOU CAN TRULY STAND A CHANCE AGAINST ALL OF THIS?!” He gestures to the storybook world around them, and  tears trail out of his sockets as Papyrus bawls openly. “YOU JUST GOT. ASSIMILATED. INTO A GODDAMN VOID! YOU'RE SO THOROUGHLY OUTMATCHED YOU HAVEN'T GOT A CLUE!”

“Then clue me in”, Toriel pleads. “Tell me what to do to get out. I'll do the rest myself.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Tuesday, I am returning to work. So unfortunately, I will not be updating as often from here on out. Oh well. Happy Holidays! 
> 
> Once again, check out Overboners work! She is my number one inspiration for this fic, and it is a (super long, considering it was just gonna be a one shot) gift for her.


	6. Need More Input

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No more the prisoner  
> No more your war machine 
> 
> Or "I, the author, fully intend to make this story the darkest, most suffering-filled thing I have ever written. Heed the tags, guys. Tw: mentions of suicide, attempted suicide, slight gore."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eyyyyyy! That text with a strike through it down below? It's a direct reference to Husk. That ain't mine. If you're here, I'm assuming you read it already and are a glutton for suffering. If you haven't, go get your weep on. Or not. Things probably won't make much sense though.

Papyrus opens his mouth to speak, only to shut it before he dooms them both. The lanky skeleton waits for the moment when Gaster would intrude upon his rebellious thoughts to threaten him with something vile for his “treachery” and interference, but that moment never comes. He hadn't actively stepped in since…since…

 

~~_“you wanna know the worst part?”_ ~~

No.

~~_“ya look so much like him”_ ~~

**No.**

~~_“that i can't bring myself to kill you”_ ~~

**_No._ **

 

Was it worth it?

Was helping her honestly worth making things worse? Papyrus thought of the laundry list of things he had been made to see, to feel, to experience by proxy. It was hell; rock bottom if there ever was one. He could never go back to the way he was before; he didn't think he would ever be able to live in his own body without wanting to scrape out his very marrow with a spork. But would he be able to just…cower and let this happen to her as well?

No.

 

Worse it is, then! It was all the same to him anyway.

He straightens, draping his scarf over his shoulder in a gesture that he means to appear heroic, like a gallant knight accepting a quest. It misses the mark completely; the grim finality of his stance is more like a condemned man approaching the gallows. Toriel panics.

“Please! I beg of y-”

He approaches her; eyes hard, mind made up. “EARLIER, WHEN I TOOK YOU BACK, DO YOU REMEMBER HOW THAT FELT?”

“What does that have to do with...Yes. How could I not? It was…”

Toriel goes silent thinking of how exactly it felt to her; nearly indescribable, like being destroyed and reconstructed, only all the pieces were in the wrong place. She supposed that was accurate enough; _she_ was the pieces. Her body was the place.

Papyrus continues, quickly and deliberately, as if any second the endless sky would open up and swallow the two of them whole. “YOU'RE GOING FOR THE EXACT OPPOSITE, SO PUSH THAT AS FAR FROM YOUR MIND AS YOU CAN. YOU HAVE ONE JOB: FOCUS ON YOUR BODY. MAKE IT MOVE. SPEAK THROUGH IT. TELL FRISK TO LEAVE, TO RESET, ANYTHING! JUST GET THEM AWAY FROM YOU.”

Reset? Frisk? The hell was he talking about? Getting the child away from her, however…that made sense. If that… _thing_ was roaming in her flesh, then that would be best. Send them away. How bittersweet that the only human to want to stay would be the only human she'd drive out of her home. Tears sting her eyes. She refuses to let them fall.

  
Clasping her shoulders, he looks up at her. Huh. She hadn't realized he was so short in comparison to herself. Without all the bluster, or the absurdity surrounding them, he seemed…kind. Kind and sad. ”ALL I CAN DO IS TAKE YOU THERE; THE REST IS UP TO YOU, AND YOU’RE ONLY GONNA HAVE ONE SHOT AT THIS. YOU'LL HAVE TO…YOU'LL HAVE TO…” he hesitates.

To what?

“YOU HAVE TO DIE, IF YOU WANT TO PROTECT THE HUMAN.”

Toriel freezes, too shocked to even speak for a moment. Of course it would be like this. She hadn't expected it to be a cakewalk, they were dealing with a body snatching fiend after all. “HE WILL NEVER GIVE YOU UP, OTHERWISE. NOT WITHOUT A FIGHT. NOT WITHOUT DESTROYING EVERYTHING YOU LOVE. HE'S PLAYING FOR KEEPS, DO YOU UNDERSTAND?”

“That's how we get out of here? Oh, goodness…”

The skeleton barks out a mirthless chuckle. “FORGET ABOUT ME ‘GETTING OUT’. THAT'S NOT HAPPENING.” Papyrus sighs, before giving her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. Was it to reassure Toriel, or himself? He didn't know. “BUT IF YOU WANT TO PROTECT FRISK…I MIGHT BE ABLE TO HELP YOU.”

 

* * *

 

_‘Oh, this is fantastic.’_

 

Gaster had learned a great many things about himself, and about his limitations over time. It was simple enough: wait in the void, plot a bit, possess a body. Wash, rinse, repeat. He thought he had discovered all that there was to know about it. However, now it appeared that he was mistaken.

Two sets of input bombard his senses, a pair of contrasting stimuli. It's the way they clash against one another, now combined with the murmuring that (try as he might) he can't quite make out from the void and the pressure from Toriel trying to force him out that has him stretched thin. He's disoriented; it's taking much of his concentration to keep the perspectives separate and himself remaining firmly in the tangible. Cold stone chills the bones of one vessel while the roaring fireplace warms the flesh of another. He presses both sets of hands to his faces, exasperated by Toriel’s continuous efforts. A digit of his furry paw twitches; that is _not_ him.

A sharp pain, like an ice pick piercing his eyes, and the void replaces his view of the living room. He snatches back control in an instant.

 

_‘So much for leisure, then.’_

 

Rising from the armchair, ‘Toriel’ shakily ambles to the foyer, teeth chattering in her maw. The human watches her every step. “Mom…?”

“I must seal the exit”, ‘she’ says as she leans against the rail. “Come with me, child.”

Frisk shuffles in beside her, scuffing their ratty shoes against the hardwood floors with a squeak. ‘Toriel’ winces. The child pays it no mind. “This is different, you know…any of the times before I'd be begging you not to do this. I just…I never thought I'd be helping you keep me away from the rest of the underground. It's kind of funny.”

_‘Yes, yes, “funny”...how insightful. Can't wait to be rid of you, your God-forsaken snails, and your damn shoes. Inane little guttersnipe; if I wasn't biding my time-’_

“Are you alright? You don't look good…”

‘Toriel’ shuts her eyes tight, trying and failing to block out any more stimuli. ‘She’ grips the stair rail hard enough to snap off a claw. _‘I don't look_ _well_ _, you moronic fucking hobgoblin! Do you have even the slightest inkling of proper grammar, you waste of flesh?!’_

“We can do this later. Come on.” Frisk pats a fuzzy paw gently…

 

And a series of fortuitous events coincide.

 

The slight touch startles Gaster, breaking him out of his slipping concentration. That alone would have been okay.

 

He opens his eyes, and the warm lighting sears his vision like some omnipotent sadist has replaced them with strobe lights. Less okay.

 

Then the banging at the door starts. Frisk nearly jumps out of their skin. A thin line of dust starts to trickle from ‘Toriel’s’ snout.

 

“Hey!” “Lady!” “Open up!”

 _'All this noise, this light, not to mention this simpering little bastard of a child, and now_ **_those monsters from the ruins_** _?! What next-’_

The trio of concerned monsters shouts at the door, finally having mustered up the courage to check on Toriel’s wellbeing. “We've got to get that out of you! I brought some friends to help! Just let us in!”

“What do they mean ‘get that out of you’...?” Confused, the human looks up at her, attention now drawn to the stream of black-flecked dust pouring from her nose. They scramble away from her with a horrified screech. “H-holy shit!!”

 

Gaster feels her, rising steadily from the void; clawing and battling against him, seizing back every scrap of herself he doesn't have a firm grasp upon. Which, much to his dismay, was quite a lot.

 

“Ch...ch...ild….ru...run…” A voice, fearful and fair, gurgles out of his throat against his will, and the human bolts down the stairs in sheer terror.

Seeping from his stolen vessel like sand from a sieve, he feels something else, too...a firm blockade that he didn't quite have a name for, keeping him from smothering Toriel back into place. It's…

_‘Papyrus? Oh, this is rich! You know what? Have it your way. There are other ways you can be dealt with.’_

 

Gaster leaves one shell.

 

There's always the other.

 

* * *

 

_‘YOU DID IT!’_

At last, Toriel stands within her home, gulping down air and shuddering from the tremendous effort. Without Papyrus helping her, it would have easily ended in failure.

“With your help, friend”, she croaks. “You have my thanks. Now I just…have to… ”

 

Ah.

Papyrus sighs.

 

She raises her trembling paws; summoning her soul with one and conjuring a fireball with the other. The flame flickers from a muted orange to blue to an incandescent white, and she forces her magic to compress it hotter, smaller, tighter. As Toriel brings it closer to her soul, she whispers meekly, “Can I be honest with you…um… ?”

 _‘IT'S PAPYRUS…OR…PAPY...ACTUALLY, ON SECOND THOUGHT, ‘FRIEND’ IS FINE’._ He found that Gaster had ruined anything good he had felt about his own name. But he could be ‘friend’, easily. Gladly.

“Friend…”, Toriel murmurs. “I am...afraid.” Afraid of what comes after, of being alone…but most of all, afraid _for_ him.

_‘THERE ARE MUCH MORE FRIGHTENING THINGS THAN DEATH.’_

 

“...What will you do?”

 

 _‘REMEMBER YOU.’_ , he says. _‘NOW HURRY, BEFORE HE TAKES BACK CONTROL.’_

Breathing deep, the goat woman; the closest thing he'd had to a friend in his private purgatory; moves to smash her soul against the white-hot pinpoint…

  
  
  
And is interrupted by a blood-curdling scream from the basement

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are getting into full swing here. It's gonna be a bumpy ride. 
> 
> 1) I! Forgot to mention! There are songs for every chapter, heavily referenced in the titles and throughout cause I'm garbage. This chapter's tune(s) are "Need More Input" by Thank You Scientist and "The Fight Of Moses Early And Sir Arthur McCloud" by The Prize Fighter Inferno. Uh... give 'em a listen if you wanna check the mood I was going for? I'm gonna go back and add the previous chapters songs in the notes (minus any links cause I suck ass at html).
> 
> 2) Not-so-fun fact: That bit with Gaster is mainly just me giving him one of my migraines lol


	7. Cygnus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Niño preparate  
> Brincan los cuerpos  
> Vas a sufrir
> 
> Or, "Papyrus does bad things then stops, then bad things happen, and OH LOOK! MORE BAD THINGS!" 
> 
> Tw: arson, immolation, drug use

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please read the tags. I don't want to unnecessarily trigger or squick someone. Things are going to get bad, then worse from here on out. I will eventually get some fluff in here, but now is not the time, and this is NOT that chapter. 
> 
> Awful shit I'm listening to: "Cygnus...Vismund Cygnus" by The Mars Volta

Papyrus was a friend. The void hadn't changed that fact.

Friendship had always been a simple enough concept for him, even if the friends themselves were scarce. Make them happy. Enjoy their company. Encourage them.

Simple things.

For the less simple things, he had lacked a certain...finesse. He didn't believe in something being impossible; he believed in _believing_. When push came to shove, he'd do neither, opting instead to try to obliterate the obstacle entirely, either from sheer optimism or raw effort. People thought it was just enthusiasm. Sans believed it was healthier than being…well, like him. Gaster proved it was flawed. But what would he ever know about being a friend? Not a damn thing.

Friends don't take control of your body.

Friends don't make you do things you don't want to.

“Papyrus…?” Toriel whimpers, unable to move from against the rail. He doesn't utter a word; the banging at the door and the shouts from down below punctuate his silence.

From the void, he claims control of her paws; the sensation is unnatural, as he had never been flesh before. Coaxing them into movement is like moving ancient stone.

“What are you-..!”

Papyrus was a friend. He knows this to be true, even as he presses her soul closer to the bright flame.

“Let...let me go! I must help them!”

Papyrus was a friend.

Papyrus  was a friend .

“Unhand me this instant!”, Toriel roars. “You told me that the rest was up to me! That this choice was mine! Let me make it, then!”

Friends don't let friends doom themselves to a fate worse than death.

Papyrus is a friend.

“If you do this to me, you're just as bad as he is!”

He stops.

Papyrus is a friend. He knows this even as Toriel descends the stairs to what is surely a trap. He knows this because he follows.

 

* * *

 

The damp, dank walls of the cellar rush past Frisk on their mad dash back upstairs. They don't stop to think. They don't stop to breathe. They don't stop.

Bone attacks whizz past their ears. They dodge them with ease; adrenaline pumping and fear coursing through their veins. Dipping and weaving, stopping and starting, the child lurches through the wave of blue and white bones. A familiar chime followed by a weight like sandbags, and their soul is turned blue.

Frisk turns slowly, deliberately, like the cogs of a massive clock. For the first time in this timeline, they raise their weapon; a sturdy branch as thick as their forearm. They had killed Papyrus with it once; many resets ago when they weren't quite their self and he wasn't _this_. Having seen what he could do to them, to Toriel...

They were determined to do it again, if they had to.

“I'm not afraid to fight you, Papyrus!”, they shout; squaring up their stance with the branch in a white-knuckled grip.

“THEN YOU ARE A FOOL”, 'Papyrus’ says dryly. Toriel clambers down the steps with haste, placing herself between the two. He doesn't spare her a passing glance. ”IT TOOK YOU LONG ENOUGH.”

“Let them pass.” she snarls. A blinding flash erupts between her paws, and the discharge of compressed magic causes the air to pop and snap within the hall. He doesn't move. “You know I won't miss. Stand aside-”

“I KNEW HE'D DO IT.”

“...What?”

Behind ‘Papyrus', Gaster rises out from shadow; an inky blight staining the bones of his host as he glides toward her. Speaking in tandem with ‘Papyrus', he continues. “I KNEW HE'D CRACK, KNEW HE'D GIVE IN AND HELP YOU. THAT'S THE WAY HE IS; IMPULSIVE! HE NEVER THINKS OF CONSEQUENCES.”

That was...unsurprising. Also, completely irrelevant. After his interference on the stairs, she no longer cared about Papyrus, his help or his damned impulses. The child hiding behind her was her number one priority, and she wouldn't be able to protect them if she died just yet, now would she? That skeleton had the nerve, the audacity to call himself a friend when he tried to kill her-

“DID YOU EVER THINK THAT MAYBE…I _WANTED_ YOU OUT, AND DOWN HERE, FOR THIS?”

His words give her pause, and an ice cold chill settles in her gut. Papyrus would've killed her; he was willing to _kill_ her...to keep her from coming down here. She feels the frenzied tug at her side; without even bothering to look she knows it's him, wordlessly begging her to run, to forget fighting, to finish what she started upstairs. It's a plea she ignores. Dejected, he tries in vain to seep back into the void. Instances of emotion feebly bleed into her soul; despair, anger, but most of all, _fear_. She casts such cowardly notions aside, instead gripping the human close and gathering up the magic around her to conjure a wall of flame. Before Toriel can even begin to blast him with the inferno, she's shrieking; body convulsing and soul alight with raw, uninhibited magic. The child panicking in her grasp, soul still blue, struggles to escape from the heat radiating from her.

“Mom! Stop! Please, you're burning me!”

Again and again, Papyrus tries to return to the void. Again and again, he fails. He didn't want to be here, he didn't want to see it, it was too much to watch, _dammit he had already done this! He couldn't stand it...he couldn't watch it…_ **_not again, don't make-_ **

_‘No, no, no Papyrus’,_ Gaster coos, closing in on him. He grasps his face roughly, pointing his gaze to the inferno in the hall.  ‘ _You will **watch.**_ _I thought our time together had taught you how to leave well enough alone. I see now that you require…re-education. And you,Toriel…’_

The blazing tempest surrounds the pair; sheets of flame lick at Frisk, scorching their skin...yet Toriel remains untouched. Her screams echo down the corridor, drowning out the child's agony.

_‘Your defiance…distracts me. And I can't very well enjoy my time if you both don't fall in line.’_

From his skeletal husk, Gaster observes them all with a sneer before he backs out of the hall. The specter however, he leaves behind; black as pitch and smudging the ground with dark sludge. He drags a struggling, sobbing Papyrus into the fire, making sure he had every second burned within his memory.

 _‘Look at her’_ , Gaster sighs, perverse pride brimming within him. _‘Such a talent for fire magic.’_ Gentle and sure, like a lover, he cups Toriel’s tearful face as she screams, oblivious to everything but the unceasing misery of each passing second. Was it only seconds? Could it have been days? Time no longer had meaning. _‘You know something? I almost don't even need to flood you with magic for this. But I feel it's necessary; I want you to know the cost of defiance...’_

All she feels is torment as her soul is filled to bursting with a torrent of magic that she couldn't possibly hope to contain. In her agony, she barely notes the taste of acrid smoke in her mouth, the sudden lightness in her arms.

_‘...And this is a memorable lesson if I ever heard of one.’_

The raw magic throbbing within her soul wanes _just enough_ for Toriel to turn her head. Papyrus is bawling, blubbering as he scrapes and claws at the hands holding him in place, but try as he might, it's futile. She follows his line of sight. _‘NO!’,_ he barks at her, stopping her in her tracks. _‘YOU DON'T WANT TO! JUST D-DON'T...DON'T LOOK!’_

She ignores him. When Toriel finally looks upon Frisk, the child in her grasp is naught but char and ash. Eyes wide and unbelieving, she tries to recoil but cannot move; to wail, but she had gone mute. She was _trapped_ , well and truly imprisoned inside her flesh; a spectator, able to _see_ with growing trepidation as he uses her body to claim the child's soul...but not able to stop him. Gaster leans in close.

_‘Our lesson isn't finished.’_

 

* * *

 

 

At a certain little shop in Snowdin, a friendly, lop-eared shopkeeper steps out on break. She makes her way around to the back of the building, checking for witnesses before she climbs up the building to the roof. Sweeping the fluffy snow aside, she makes herself a dry(ish) place to sit. With a low groan and a stretch, the rabbit monster settles in, and takes a half smoked dog treat out of her pocket. “This day ‘s fuckin’ loooong…jus’ a few more hours and I can get home…”, she sighs. A few drags and a mild buzz later, she rises to leave…but then she sees something that nearly makes her leap from the roof in panic.

 

The ruins are in flames.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh snap.


	8. Good News For People Who Love Bad News

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You were laying on the carpet  
> Like you're satin in a coffin  
> You said, "Do you believe what you're sayin'?"  
> "Yeah, right now, but...not that often."
> 
> Or, "Let's switch it up a little, featuring a Mettaton capable of character development, a Gerson who would break your legs, and a poor little ghost who I identify entirely too much with."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not doing too well...sorry for the wait, guys. I might tweak this later, but I think this is as good as it gets for now. My migraines are back and demolishing my ass with no mercy. :(

“Alphys, open up!”

There's a metallic clang, then the whirring of a motor as Mettaton pries at the door to Alphys’ lab. She had been so excited about her “not a date” earlier, and he was eagerly awaiting her call to hear all about it. Perhaps it was running a bit late?

“Come now, I know you lovebirds are enjoying your date, but we have pressing matters to attend to! Like my career!”

Yes, yes…romance or not, he had a show to put on, and several repairs were in order! With a loud crunch and the wrenching of metal, Mettaton nearly pulls the door off its hinges. He looks around and finds…no one. All the snacks are untouched, no open drinks to be found, and the pile of anime is left (neatly!) on the counter. Where could they be? As he trudges through the lab, his wheel catches onto something soft, almost silky. Mettaton’s noodly arms yank the offending bit of fabric out of his axel, and bring it close to his screen to get a good look at-…oh.

 _Oh._ His screen reddens in realization.

“Oh-ho-ho! Seems you two took the festivities _elsewhere_ , I see…well it's about time!”, he tosses Alphys’ dress onto her bed with an auto-tuned chuckle and strolls towards the door. ”No way in _hell_ am I missing out on this!”

* * *

It's a short ride on the ferry, and a pleasant walk throughout Waterfall (seeing many adoring fans, of course) that has Mettaton in a cheerful mood before he reaches Undyne’s house. He had made it a point to stay out of Waterfall as much as possible for… _reasons_ …but it was still as lovely as he remembered. The fish-shaped house is silent and dark as he approaches. “Hello, darlings!” Mettaton shouts, snickering to himself at the door left ajar. They must have been in quite a rush…how lewd!

He shoves the door open with glee, posing flamboyantly before he gets a good look at the room. ”I get that you couldn't wait to get your hands on one another, but the door is wide…open…”

There's no one home. He takes note of the deafening silence as he creeps deeper into the house. The scant bit of light shining from his screen is barely enough to illuminate the room. Something grainy, almost powdery sifts against his tire treads. Curious, Mettaton glances at the carpet beneath his lone wheel…

 

It's _dust_. And an awful lot of it.

“What in…what in the _fuck…!?_ ”, he nearly shrieks, reeling as he scrambles back toward the door. He fumbles for a light switch, swiping an arm along the wall until finally, the room is lit. The dining room is covered in a trail of dust swept to and fro, almost unbroken save for a single tire track and…stout claw marks.

Alphys.

 _‘She's alive, but…’_ Mettaton glances at the room before him with a shudder as he tries to piece together what in the hell happened. His friend's claw marks dot the scene; sweeping arcs upon the carpet, smudging dusty prints along the counter…upon which sits a single tin of golden flower tea, only partially filled with dust. _‘You were going to handle this yourself…? Why didn't you call anyone? And where the fuck did you go?’_

It's the final question that spurs Mettaton to action; Alphys…wasn't exactly the most stable monster in the underground, even on a good day. But after this? She could…she might-

”Okay that's enough of that…I need to find her. She's got to be around somewhere”, Mettaton sighs. He reaches for the switch on his back panel, bracing himself for the shift in form before he flips the mechanism. Magic courses through the panels of his rectangular body as they open, sliding and locking in place. He tentatively flexes his new limbs; not the most ideal way to show off his new body, but getting stopped by fans who recognized him would be a waste of precious time.

Mettaton steps out of the house, pausing only to close and lock the door with care. He strides briskly through a now crowded Waterfall, keeping an eye out for the yellow monster. It felt… _wrong_ , leaving Undyne like that, but the sooner he found Alphys, the sooner they could give her a proper burial. Hopefully he'd only be having one funeral today.

A flash of yellow scales within the throng of monsters pulls him from his thoughts. “Alphys!”, he shouts, nearly knocking down a Temmie as he dashes after the yellow streak. “Hey! Wait!”

It bolts and weaves through the crowd, and Mettaton is hard pressed to keep up until it stumbles. “Alphys, what in the _fuck_ -”, He stops short, pulling the monster to their feet with his flexible arms. “You…aren't Alphys”, he deadpans.

The monster kid in his arms flashes a goofy grin. “Mmnope!”, the child chirps. “But if you're looking for her, you might wanna check Snowdin!”

“Wait, what? Why would she be in Snowdin?”

“Wow, dude…you don't know…?”, the little monster gapes at him quizzically for a moment before wriggling from his grasp. “Look around, don't it seem a bit _busy_ for Waterfall?”

 

Huh.

Now that the kid mentioned it, Mettaton looked around the cavern. Panicked monsters rushed towards Snowdin; some carrying bundles of monster food and magic infused bandages, others were being split into groups by an uncharacteristically stern Gerson. He strains to hear the aged tortoise in the din of the cavern, only making out a few syllables. Fire…need healers...water magic…

“If you wanna help out, go talk to Gerson.” The child shuffling at Mettaton’s feet breaks him from his concentration. “Anyways, I gotta find my mom...later!” With nary a parting glance, the little monster sprints back into the crowd. _‘That didn't help much…’_ , Mettaton ponders, weaving through the mass of monsters now surrounding the tortoise. _‘But maybe Gerson can give me some answers.’_

He stands in the center of the group, gesturing with authority to Aaron and Woshua as he speaks. “You two, go to Hotland, track down Muffet. That's her family in there.” With a curt nod they depart, and Gerson returns his focus to the rest of the lot. “We can't wait on Fluffybuns to open the door any longer; we're breaking it down.” His withered green hands deftly summon forth a large warhammer, hefting it upon his shell with an ease belying his age. The tortoise steps forward with purpose, looking every bit the hero he was in days long past. Adamant and resolute, he sizes up the robot and motions for Mettaton to follow. “You look like you got some useful magic; you're coming with us.”

“Whoa, wait a minute!”, Mettaton flusters as he struggles to keep up with him. “I'm just looking for Dr. Alphys; that's it! I've got nothing to do with any of this!”

“Are you serious, sonny?”

Gripping him close, the old tortoise eyes him with an unreadable expression before muttering low and dangerous in his ear. “There are monsters, dozens of them, dying on the other side of the door to the ruins.”

Mettaton goes rigid at his words; if he had flesh, he would have blanched. “Wh-...what…?”

The tortoise gives him a firm shake as he continues. “The ruins are on fire! The exits are either blocked or in flames; if we don't get that door open, that place is basically a tomb!”, he snarls. “So, you're either helping us, or staying the hell out of the way. Make your choice.” At that, Gerson and the ragtag band of monsters surrounding him make haste toward Snowdin, not bothering to wait for the robot to catch up.

Conflicted, he watches them depart. Mettaton’s soul swells with something he hadn't let himself feel in a long time: Guilt. It washes over him, around him…much like the commotion surrounding him. The monsters in the vicinity pay him no mind, save for one…a familiar pair of eyes in the crowd.

“Blooky?”, he murmurs. The eyes vanish. ”Wait!”

Mettaton sprints after the ghost, splashing through puddles and pools of water, crushing the luminous flora underfoot as he makes his way down a path he knew by memory. The twists and turns don't slow him down in the slightest, and he rounds the corner just in time to watch Napstablook phase through the front door. He falters for a brief moment, and the guilt creeps up yet again before he knocks uncertainly at Blooky’s door. Silence.

Sighing deeply, the robot settles onto the ground, back pressed against the the doorframe as he listens for something, _anything_ from inside the house. “It's…it's me…Mettablook”, he says with a wince. How long had it been since he used that name? ”I know, I left…I left and I was wrong for that; I left you alone here.” His tongue feels foreign, heavy in his now dry mouth as he speaks to the empty sounding house. “And I know that…I don't even have the right to come to you, to ask you for help, but…” Warm, liquefied magic floods Mettaton’s vision. “Have you seen my friend?”, he sobs. “She’s…she's yellow…a-and short, and sh-she stutters when she's nervous…which is all the time.” A watery chuckle erupts from his mouth. “I don't know where she is… _I don't know-_ ”

Something light and cool brushes against his cheek. “i haven't seen alphys…she wasn't in snowdin when i passed through.”, Napstablook whispers, gently wiping the tears from Mettaton’s face. “she wasn't in the ruins, either.”

“You were there?!” The robot sits up with a start. “Oh my God… Blooky…what the hell happened?”

“i saw them…i saw so many monsters…i thought they were running from the flames…”, the little ghost trembles, nearly turning invisible in recollection. ”they were running from _her_.”

“Who?”  


* * *

 

 

Through the smoky char, the ash and heat, two figures emerge from the ruins. One, a tall goat monster, holds both a small bundle of charred bones and a claimed human soul within her grasp. The other, a lanky skeleton, looks as if he's seen the losing end of countless fights judging from the missing teeth and battle body sitting askew on his frame. They survey the area around them in tandem; every motion they make unnervingly in sync with the other for an instant before becoming natural, fluid…

Sorrowful, but only inasmuch as it was a near perfect facsimile of grief; not quite reaching the eyes, yet not so detached as to be questioned.

 _‘All your protesting and wailing gave me so much material to work with, Toriel.’_ , Gaster smiles. The goat woman he inhabits had long since gone incoherent in the wake of all he-... _she_ did. When he finally allowed her and Papyrus to retreat to the void, they fled almost immediately from him, leaving Gaster to his ill-gotten husk in peace. He looks himself and... _himself_ over with interest. _‘Goodness me…’_ , Gaster sighs. _‘This will take a bit of getting used to.’_ Taking note of his hosts, he rakes over every detail meticulously; every stray bit of fur ( _not scorched enough)_ , the tiny pips of light within his skull ( _too cheerful_ ), a missing glove permitting the icy wind to bite at his bare bones ( _when did he lose it? ah, no matter)_. A slight gesture from ‘Toriel', and her pristine robes are charred just enough to be convincing.

Making ‘Papyrus' more believable is another approach entirely. Perhaps he could look more the part if he thought of something that dampened his spirits?

_‘Losing…being hunted by goat women...ah! Being interrupted mid coitus by a braggart fool who is a sore loser!’_

 

His eyelights dim considerably.

Half expecting a retort, the lack of interruption has him downright chipper; injuries and freezing phalanges be damned! Off in the distance, he sees a group of monsters quickly making their way towards his position. _‘Finally! The fun can really start!’_

‘Papyrus' calls for help. The dull glint of a camera lens in the bushes goes unnoticed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Well you disappeared so often  
> Like you dissolved into coffee.  
> Are you here right now, or are there  
> Prob'ly fossils under your meat?"
> 
> Tunes for this chapter: "Satin in a Coffin" and "Bury Me With It" by Modest Mouse.
> 
>  
> 
> Finally I can get this plot train movin! :D


	9. Cold Comfort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I don't feel alright  
> In spite of these comforting  
> Sounds you make
> 
> Or, "Wow, I'm punctual for once! Holy eff! I, Uh... didn't proofread it as much as I normally do..."
> 
> But also, "Ghost buddies, Sans finally appears, Mettaton gets his sleuth on. TW: mentions of arson, child murder"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I! Am so excited that I have an actual, timely update! Which is so unlike me, cause I've got a job, and a marriage, and my kids and my health to put first soooo...taking time to write doesn't always happen...heh.
> 
> We're really moving towards the plot! Yay!
> 
> Tunes for this chapter: "Comforting Sounds" by Mew and "King Rat" by Modest Mouse

Mettaton’s jaw drops; he's gaping like a fish before he shuts it with an audible click. “You mean to tell me you saw Toriel, the _queen of all monsters_ …”, he gasps. ”Track down and murder _everyone?_ ”

Napstablook nods in the affirmative and continues. “a few monsters had gone to her house to check on her…she was… _sick_ …”, the little ghost pauses, shivering. ”but when she stepped out that door…she wasn't…that wasn't a monster anymore…”

Nearly transparent, the ghost weeps; remembering in crisp detail the faces in the flames, the screams as they ran from Home, the look of _madness_ in Toriel’s eyes as she clutched those burnt bones close. Incinerating friend and fearful foe alike with impunity; her flames climbed the walls like ivy, seeking out and destroying all that lived and breathed. She almost spotted them on her way back Home; Napstablook had faded into the background before she could see the ghost. They saw _her_ though…the veil of madness concealing something miserable, almost locked away by manic glee…until Home itself was set asunder in her wake and the feeble spark of all that was good and kind in her died to embers with it.

 

”she was a beast…”

 

A chill fills the air, and Mettaton isn't entirely sure it's the dampness of Waterfall that makes it so. His cousin had seen so much. “Blooky, I…I need you to come with me.”

“o-oh no, n-no-no i am _not_ going back there-”, Blooky whimpers, disappearing into the house.

“What? No, I wouldn't ask that of you!”, he's taken aback for a second before he scrambles for the door. ”Just, come with me to Alphys’ lab. That way, if she comes back, then...th-then…” Hot magic sears his eyes and Mettaton furiously scrubs at his face. Just how many times was he going to cry today?!

Peeping through the wall, Blooky observes the robot with intrigue. Maybe he wasn't so cold after all?

“y-yeah…yeah, i can do that.”

* * *

 

 

In a quaint, cozy house nearing the edge of Snowdin proper, there's a distinctly skeleton-shaped lump snuggled deep into dingy, threadbare sheets. Bony, almost dainty tarsals peek out of the bedding when the snoring lump stretches; small limbs clacking against the hard floor as Sans rolls lazily off the mattress. Not quite awake, not quite ready to start the ~~day~~ afternoon, he squints at the white ceiling, then sniffs at the familiar scent of smoke in the air.

“paps…you're cookin’ it too high…”, he grumbles sleepily. Rising from his worn mattress, Sans groans deeply as he gives his weary bones another obligatory stretch. His vertebrae pop in succession with the effort and he chuckles to himself. “heh…i sound like a bag of rocks. sweet.”

Slowly but surely, Sans descends the stairs to the living room below, adjusting his wrinkled basketball shorts and the sweaty tank top clinging uncomfortably to his frame. The soft fibers of the carpet shift against his small metatarsals, lightly tickling the spaces in between. _‘should've snagged some socks from the trash tornado…’_

The smoky smell hasn't dissipated in the slightest. ”papyrus, open a window or something…”, Sans starts, but there's no sounds of pots and pans clanging together in the kitchen, no cheerful admonishment from his brother for waking up so late.

 

There’s no Papyrus.

 

”papy?”, he says to no one in particular; the empty space within those four walls isn't one for conversation. Scanning the rooms for a note proves a fruitless effort, and part of him wonders what exactly the big deal was; what was it that fueled the panic in his soul? Papyrus goes out all the time, he'd call if something was wrong…right? Movement outside catches Sans’ eye, and he approaches the window curiously.

Gerson and a group monsters are walking towards his doorstep; some looking grim, others looking somewhat perplexed. All of which being residents of Waterfall. What brought them all the way out here? Sans steps out into the frigid air and the cold makes his already damp shirt sting against his ribs. ”hey man”, he waves to Gerson. “you seen my bro?”

“Uh...that depends, sonny.” The monsters at his back become a bit fidgety, sharing a look before leaving him in haste. “Skeleton?”, the tortoise asks.

 _‘is this guy fuckin’ serious…?’_ “ya think?”

The aged veteran rubs his temples with a sigh, gazing further up the road. “Tall, kind of excitable?”

“no shit. where's he at, gerson?”

“Hoo boy…we found your brother a little while ago. He’s…you might wanna follow me-”, Gerson turns to where Sans stands, and finds himself face to face with a decidedly angry skeleton, now fully dressed. Rictus rigid, eyelights snuffed out; the measured calm in his conjured voice is unnerving.

“ **where. is. he.** ” Sans says, even and clear in spite of the tempestuous magic coming off of him in waves.

“The door to the ruins! But-”, a staticky pop cuts Gerson off mid sentence. The spot where Sans stood is empty, save for shallow slipper-prints in the fluffy snow. ”...-don't say I didn't warn you. Damn younguns…”

 

* * *

 

Close to the ruins, another staticky pop precludes the arrival of a very, _very_ agitated skeleton. He huffs from the exertion before shoving through the gathering crowd with a shout. “ _-_ the fuck is my brother at? papy? _papy?!_ ”

 

 _‘Oh my, he's actually punctual for once! Small wonder, that.’_ , Gaster muses.

 

“BROTHER? I'M HERE…I…” The crowd parts, suddenly finding literally everything else in the world more interesting than the upcoming exchange. Several monsters, having prepped appropriately, venture through the door to begin the task of putting out the fire. Sans rushes to ‘Papyrus’, eyelights blown wide at his brother's appearance. Mouth in splinters, battle body dented beyond recognition; he reaches out to Sans for comfort, speaking through broken sobs while seated in the snow. ”THE DOOR WAS OPEN, AND I HEARD HER, AND THERE WAS A HUMAN, AND…AND… _OH GOD, SANS…I WAS SO SCARED…!!_ ”

“whoa, slow down! just…just breathe, man. you're safe now.” Sans hugs him close, stroking his skull in that gentle manner he used to lull Papy back to sleep when he was just a babybones. It's nothing but willpower that keeps Gaster from burying Papyrus’ face into the skeleton’s sternum and inhaling his musk. He had missed when Sans had been more…lively, though breaking him couldn't be helped. Sans was simply too stubborn.

 

Speaking of…

 

“what made you come all the way out here?”, Sans questions, gesturing to the woods around them. “this isn't anywhere near your sentry station…”

 

_‘Always so sharp…I wouldn't expect anything less from you.’_

 

‘Papyrus’ trembles at his words, and his bones rattle in the chilly air. “I WANTED TO LET YOU SLEEP IN! I THOUGHT THAT…IF I COULD PROVE THAT I COULD HANDLE MORE DUTIES THEN MAYBE UNDYNE WOULD FINALLY…”, he shakes his head, balled up fists pressed into his sockets; perfectly mimicking that which he'd seen Papy do a million times in his more _emotional_ outbursts. ”BUT I FAILED, SANS! I LET THEM DOWN! I LET EVERYONE DOWN!”

“what? how do you figure?”

 

“Everyone is dead.”

 

Sans turns to face the owner of the quiet voice; a tall goat monster kneeling in the snow. She stares at the door with a far off expression; stock still, if it weren't for the icy wind stirring her singed fur. ”The human killed them all…then set fire to the ruins.”, ‘Toriel’ whimpers softly. Sans listens closely, scanning her form with curiosity.

 _‘she sounds legit, but…something’s off here’_ , he thinks to himself. Interest piqued, he fixes his eyelights on the lightly wrapped, scorched bundle in the snow before her, but the sight leaves him perplexed. Its shape is vaguely familiar, somewhat disconcerting…he tries in vain to dismiss it. Maybe, just maybe his mind was shielding him from something…but he felt like a kid watching a scary movie, taking peeks at the frightening parts through splayed fingers. More likely than not, it's just his mind playing tricks on him...and in spite of that, he feels as if he should _know_ precisely what he's looking at.

The errant breeze musses ‘Toriel’s’ fur slightly; it's frigid chill is easily passed off as a fearful shiver. “They almost killed me…I barely managed to crawl to the exit before everything was engulfed in flames.”, she says. When a particularly strong gust flips open the bit of cloth wrapping Frisk’s remains, blowing it clear up the path to Snowdin…’Toriel’ is sure to weep; a perfect picture of barely contained hysterics. _“_ If it wasn't for your brother hearing me, I'd…I'd be…”

The permanent grin fixed upon his skull drops minutely, almost imperceptibly to the untrained eye. Sans looks upon the charred remains in horror. The terror is twofold; first of which being that a human had wreaked havoc upon so many before being stopped. Second of which…his laziness had endangered his brother; Papyrus had no _real_ reason to be out there, aside from the goodness of his soul. But injured or not, Papy saved a life. And from the looks of the human soul clutched in the goat monster’s paws, the entire underground as well. “you…”, Sans whispers, still clutching a heaving ‘Papyrus’. He takes a good long look at him then, broken teeth and all.

 

His brother, his goofy brother, the coolest dude he knew, was a _hero._

 

Sans’ conjured voice wavers, ”you did good, papy.”

 

* * *

 

When Mettaton returns to Alphys’ place with a thoughtful Napstablook in tow, the silent lab remains untouched. His steps echo throughout the floors, and he can't help but to feel…empty…in the face of all that had come to pass in such a short time.He turns to his cousin, flashing a reassuring smile. “All I need you to do is wait here until either I or Alphys comes back.”

 _‘If she comes back.’_ He smothers the thought. ”She's dealing with a lot right now, so if-... _when_ she comes back, she's gonna need a friend, okay?”

“where are you going next?”

Mettaton strokes his metallic chin in thought; where exactly should he start? She could be anywhere in the underground at this rate! “I'm not sure, really…that kid said to try Snowdin, so that'll be my first stop.”, he says, striding towards the monitor next to Alphys’ filthy desk.

 

She could be anywhere…however…

 

“There's something I want to check before I leave.”

He deftly flips a few switches, scanning the camera feeds at varied locations throughout the underground. There's one feed, just one, with a somewhat clear view of the ferry port in Snowdin. Peering at the grainy footage, he pauses the recording, rewinding it to several hours prior.

 

A squat yellow lizard waddles into frame.

 

“There!”, he exclaims as he pauses the feed once more, nearly jumping out of his chassis with excitement. ”She _was_ in Snowdin! That's her coming from the ferry!” Snatching some scrap paper from the desk, Mettaton jots down the time stamp for reference before he plays the recording.

Blooky looks on, watching the recording with a familiar sense of dread. The rigid, almost clinical way she moved…hadn't they seen that somewhere before? “she looks… _odd_ …kinda like…”

 

No. That didn't make sense. Napstablook reels in their baseless suspicions. ”n-never mind.”

Mettaton still gazes at the monitor, fiddling with its many functions in an effort to answer the million dollar question....

“Where was she going?”, he mutters to himself. ”Come on…why did you come all the way out here?”

He switches to yet another feed, hidden away much like the previous one; nestled into the side of a sentry station, this one faces the path to Snowdin and the woods beyond. The tree line is visible in the distance, albeit grainy and unfocused. There's nothing of interest on the screen, no movement, and Mettaton motions to skip the footage entirely, until...

“stop!”, Blooky squeaks. ”th-there was a weird flash just then...”

Rewinding a few seconds, he sees it; a bright flash in the background. It vanishes almost as soon as it appears. “That _is_ pretty weird…I guess that'll be the first place I check out. Let's see the rest of the footage.”

Blooky scoots in close while their cousin flicks through more feeds. The proximity is a bit strange; it had been so long since they had spent time together, and Blooky hadn't expected things to be so…well, _normal_ wasn't the right word. Too much was going on, too many lives lost and sorrow felt for it to be considered _normal_ by any means. But they felt like…they felt like…

They felt like, for the first time in a long time, they had their cousin back.

Mettaton pulls them from their thoughts with another exclamation, and Blooky nearly jumps at the interruption. “Holy shit, that guy just waltzed out of the bushes. He looks _wrecked_.”

A tall, lanky skeleton limps across the screen; leaves and branches cover him, sticking out from some uncomfortable looking places. ”o-oh...that's papyrus.”, Napstablook says. “he's a sentry.”

”I remember hearing about him from Undyne…he's pretty far out from the sentry stations.”, Mettaton notes. When the skeleton moves out of frame, he switches the feed again, this time to a camera concealed by bushes; he isn't left disappointed when Papyrus emerges from off-camera. The skeleton approaches the door to the ruins…

 

It opens.

 

“…how'd he do that?”

”Do what?”, Mettaton asks. The small ghost at his side begins to quiver, and a hint of shock taints their voice as they speak. “the door to the ruins is magically sealed. unless you know how to unseal it, it only opens from the inside. _i_ had to phase through it to go to the ruins....”, Blooky mumbles.

”s-so how did _he_ get in?”

The cousins watch the screen with baited breath, accelerating the footage to the moment the door opens once more. It opens excruciatingly slow, and the passing seconds feel like hours...until finally the door is ajar and Papyrus steps out, Toriel following close behind. Napstablook lets out a terrified yelp.

 

“Blooky?”

 

The little ghost turns translucent from fright, cowering behind their cousin. “that's her…that's _her!_ o-oh no...he _let her out!_ ”

Mettaton leans in, observing the self-exiled queen with loathing as she singes her own fur. Eyes cold and hard, he squeezes the scrap paper so tightly it squeaks within his metallic grasp. “I've seen enough. I'm going to Snowdin.”

Napstablook watches him tread toward the broken door with purpose, face gravely set with malice in his eyes. It doesn't suit him. “w-wait! mettabl-...”, the words stop Mettaton in his tracks.

“um, mettaton. be careful, okay?”

The glamorous robot flashes a wan smile in response.


	10. Cavernous People

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You can do what you will with my body but I won't ring the bell.
> 
> Or, "You get a bad time, and you get a bad time, and YOU get a bad time! :D" 
> 
> Tw: alcoholism, past alcoholism, shitty ways to cope, violence, gore, yucky parasite-y grossness at the end

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tunes for this chapter: "Psychopomp"/" Somnambulist" by Thank You Scientist, "Empty Vessels Make The Loudest Sound" by The Mars Volta, "Delirium Trigger" by Coheed And Cambria. 
> 
> Long note down below.

Sans regretfully pulls himself away from his brother, who has sunk bleakly into his embrace. Papyrus had blubbered himself to exhaustion; only broken whimpers wheeze out from his equally broken mouth. But Sans remains; steadfast, stoic. Stroking his spine into some semblance of respite so his brother can rest. He ignores the murmurs of the townspeople, the way they cut their eyes at him when they think he’s not looking.

He can take it. It’s not as if they were wrong; he _is_ lazy, this _is_ his post, _Papy should have never been here_ , however it was timely that he had been. It’s not until he listens close to his brother’s restless whispers that his facade cracks.

“I THOUGHT THEY COULD DO BETTER…I THOUGHT _I_ COULD DO BETTER...”

That’s all it takes; the anxious buzzing in his bones has reached a fever pitch. His metaphorical nerves are in tatters, but he shakes it off, determined to support Papy.

“SANS…ARE YOU ALRIGHT? YOU'RE SHAKING…”

 

_‘nah man…don’t worry yourself over a trashbag like me.’_

 

“y-yeah…just, uh…just a bit cold. aren't you?”

He doesn't wait for an answer, just offers a reassuring pat and a simple “be right back” before popping himself back home. Away from the judgemental eyes and his brother’s whimpers, the weight of his poor choices lie heavily upon him.

He fucked up. And Papy was so _good_ , so _kind_ , that he wouldn’t dare think to blame him.

Hands shaking. Eyelights nothing more than tiny pips in black sockets. His teeth strain and creak under the pressure of jaws he hadn't even noticed were clenched. He rubs at his mandible fitfully; trying in vain to ease out an ache that he wasn't quite sure would cease. It was just the stress. That's all it was. Sans was no stranger to it, and certainly not unfamiliar with the need to grin ( _heh_ ) and bear it. Back at his old job at The Core with Alphys, everybody felt that pressure; tension and deadlines broke down the best and the worst of them. So they grew into a few vices. Nothing crazy; a drink after work, a dog treat or three, the flask he kept in his work desk. Anything to get by.

But he was done with living like that. He could cope with this! Just a stressful situation wearing him down, or at least that's what he tells himself as he paces the kitchen. He just needed to take a step back, a few deep breaths, a few more minutes, a cigarette, a _fucking dog treat, something, FUCKING ANYTHING-_

 

The rum. Oh, good God, the rum.

He’s quick to drag a chair to the cupboard; quicker than he should be, quicker than is decent for a guy who should really be making an effort to be more responsible. But he's straddling that knife’s edge, that thin line between giving a few too many fucks and being fresh out of anything to give. Papyrus needed him; he needed his brother, the only family he had left that was truly worth a damn. Sans was starting to be of the opinion that maybe, just _maybe_ he wasn't worth all that much. Maybe…half a damn. A quarter?

In any case, Papy needed him to get his shit together. And Sans? Sans needed to take the edge off.

He slumps into the chair; doesn't bother with a glass, just opens up the abysmal crag of his mouth and wrenches the cap and seal from the bottle with ease. The bit of magenta foil is spat into a nearby corner; it's the super fancy shit, a going-away present from Alphys when he left The Core for…some reason or another. Sans tips it back, ignoring the burn as he takes his first gulp. And a second. And yet a third.

Sans only stops to take a breath when the burn in his throat dies to a warm tingle, his vision swims in the slightest, and the pressure in his skull fades _just so_.

 

It's enough to get by.

 

The jitters are gone from his now steady phalanges, and they clink against the half empty bottle. Clarity sets in, like the brief calm before a storm.

Shit. This wasn't…this wasn't a good way to cope. Yeah, he fucked up. And yeah, it's not like he could _un-drink half a bottle of rum_. But this had to be it, this had to be the last time. He had to find a better way to deal with feeling…this. This guilt. It wasn't the “I couldn't provide for my baby brother” guilty, he and that guilt were familiar friends. They'd gone back as far as he could remember, and it reared it's ugly mug in his life so often, it ought to be paying rent. No, this was something new; raw and deep, making a nest in his soul and threatening to destroy him from within, to hollow him out and eat him from the inside. To make him flat out useless to anyone. Cause, that's what he was, right? If he couldn't protect his brother like he set out to?

 

 _‘okay, nope. nope, nope, nope. gotta draw the line somewhere. next thing you know, i’ll be that sloppy drunk crying into his beer at grillby’s. this is my_ _one_ _.’_

 

Sans is on his feet, ignoring the urge to sway. Rock steady. He'd shaken off the stress, the anxiety creeping up his spine; it was time to get back to Papyrus. The bottle is tossed haphazardly into the sink; he flings it from himself like it's a viper poised to strike. A quick rinse of his face and he ascends the stairs to grab the _second_ reason he came back home; Papy’s favorite blanket from his room. He steps out the front door, and the cold air biting at his bones tempers his buzz.

“Wow, sonny...you move pretty quick when you want to. You've only been back home...10? 15 minutes?”

He's tempted to jump in surprise, but the warmth muddling his mind dulls his response. A weary smile greets Gerson, who returns it with a look of understanding from his perch on the front steps. He rises slowly, and his joints creak with the effort.

“I don’t want any trouble”, the tortoise says. “There’s just a few things we’ve got to get in order.”

 

“like _what?_ ”

 

* * *

 

'Papyrus’ watches Sans return, bobbing along the path from Snowdin with Gerson bringing up the rear. The minor wobble in his step doesn't escape Gaster’s keen perception, nor does the scent of rum when Sans drapes the blanket around him. It was laughable, almost preposterous how easy things had become!

_‘If I knew he'd be doing my work for me, I'd have done this ages ago!’_

Gaster smothers his amusement, opting instead to burrow himself into the heavy blanket. It smells of Papyrus, his scarf specifically; of fabric softener, mingled sweat and pine. But more importantly, it smells of _conquest_. He'd never tire of it; no matter how much he loathed the scarf or the juvenile racecar motif of the blanket, the symbolism was everything; Gaster would blanket himself in all that Papyrus was and could have been, as he had for aeons before. And much like the scarf, this body was his to possess; to flaunt and fritter away as he saw fit, to savor, to drive to ruin.

 

Papyrus would never take away what was _his_.

 

Mirth and satisfaction creeps into his sockets, and Sans breathes a sigh of relief; at least he could do _one_ thing right.

“hey, papy. i know you're not feeling up to it after everything that's happened, but we gotta see asgore. word got around that the last human soul is here, so…” he trails off, glancing at the goat woman with the thousand-yard stare for an instant before gaging his brother’s expression.

“OH...THE SOUL…WE ALL CAN LEAVE THE UNDERGROUND...”

Sans can practically _see_ the gears turning in his head; he witnesses with perfect clarity the subtle shift from hope and elation, to disgust at having even felt it at all. ”I FEEL SICK…”

 

So did Sans.

 

* * *

 

The short jaunt to the ferry is somber; quiet, save for the hushed gasps and muted whispers from nosy passersby. It was no mystery to anyone what had befallen the monsters in the ruins; humans were particularly nasty creatures, after all. Those that lived in the remainder of the underground could only thank their lucky stars that the human had been stopped. It had been nothing but luck, they say, that Papyrus had been where he was at that moment; even more so, that he had fought the human and lived. Nothing but grace, they say, that the fearsome terror known as “human” would succumb to a blaze of their own making. They lie unshrouded in the snowy path; few to mourn them, and fewer still to miss them. A true connivance of fate. They would have razed the underground, you know. They tried to kill the queen. Papyrus, a true hero, had barely gotten away with his life. How fortunate the monsters were, that the Queen thought to brave that inferno once more to claim the human’s soul.  Did you know? Did you hear-

The gossip dies down as they walk through Snowdin and approach the ferry at last. A figure cloaked in black awaits their arrival, and peers at the odd group one by one. They have no features, no eyes to be seen…just darkness cloaked in shadow, and the eerie sensation of being completely and utterly exposed. Gerson shrugs it off, stepping lightly onto the ferry and giving them a firm clap on the back. “Hello to you too, River”, he chuckles. No response.

Sans is next. The Riverperson quirks their head upon gazing at him. He suddenly feels very small.

 

Well, smaller than usual.

With a bit of effort and a strained grin, he settles in next to River and ignores the sins crawling down his back. “heh, you've _goat_ to be _kidding_ me. what gives, river-dude? normally you've got _boatloads_ to say.” Not a peep. They shift their gaze to Toriel, then Papyrus. The feeling creeping up his host’s spines as Gaster stares into the abyss within the cloak is most displeasing. They lock “eyes” with ‘Papyrus’...

In an instant, Gaster feels naked; rendered bare and nude in every sense of the word. A carcass picked clean, its bare bones bleached white by the scorching sun. Lies and tales made plain to see, deception made impotent and frail within their sight. Without a word, appealing to the good, kind soul within him...

And had Gaster a soul to appeal to, it's likely it would have worked. Instead, the pair steps onto the ferry, and ‘Papyrus’ gives the cloaked monster a secretive wink. River shudders and recoils.

”oh, i get it”, Sans snickers. “yer awestruck. not everyday you get to meet the hero of the underground. my bro _is_ pretty cool.”, he shrugs. The ferry lurches forward, before cutting through the water at a breakneck pace. They fall once more into silence, and Sans closes his eyes with a groan, fighting off growing nausea. The rush of air and splashing water echoing throughout the caverns nearly drowns out River’s voice.

“Tra-la-la…”, they drone discreetly. ”Empty vessels make the loudest sounds...wouldn’t you agree?” Sans perks up with interest before scanning the others curiously. It didn’t seem like they heard...in fact, if he had been any farther away, he wouldn’t have heard it either. As he opens his mouth to ask precisely what they meant, their destination comes into view. Sans would just have to ask them at another time.

To his surprise, Asgore waits for them at their stop with a couple ( _heh_ ) of guards. The huge monster fidgets uncontrollably; pacing to and fro, wringing his massive paws as fluffy ears sway in time with his strides. When Asgore sets sight upon them, he nearly jumps out of his own skin.

 

“Tori!”

 

 _‘Oh, great…’_ Gaster mutters. It appeared that the king had never _quite_ gotten over Toriel, if his reaction was any indication. How droll. Also irritating, as it was yet another factor to this game of pretend. Perhaps one for him to exploit, if he needed to blow off a bit of steam. He digs deep, and his greedy tendrils grasp at centuries worth of memories. None of which his, but all of which his for the taking…

If he could reach them.

He panics, reaching out once more. To his frustration, he barely scratches the surface of her thoughts, her memories; the culmination of her being is out of his grasp. Gaster strains to listen, to snatch away some sort of context...but there’s nothing, _nothing_ , save for scraps of Toriel’s life in the ruins for him to work with. Even that is hard won; mingled with screams and whimpers of despair from her damaged psyche, there’s nothing much of use that he can access.

_‘Humans, pie recipes, those god-forsaken snails…puns?! This is useless!’_

Time to improvise. He didn't have to get all the subtleties and idiosyncrasies spot on; after all, ‘Toriel’ _had_ just been traumatised. Who wouldn’t act a bit strange after such an ordeal?

She steps off the boat and turns to him slowly, meekly, before croaking out a greeting. “Ah...hello, Asgore.”

“You...you were in the ruins all this time?”

Looking at her scorched robe and singed fur, Asgore sighs deeply; it takes everything in him not to pick her up and hold her close. She looked so _empty_ , so _hollow_ now. He remembered back when they first met, the warmth in her eyes when she introduced herself. The glint of mischief when she and Asriel would peek during their games of hide and seek. Or, most disconcerting, the disgust and sheer revulsion that marred her face when he declared a new war upon humanity. This Toriel; this broken, fragile thing; was not his. Was he wrong to miss her anger? Was he so accustomed to being the subject of her ire that it was second nature to expect her scorn? He takes her paws into his own; a perfect fit, such tiny little things in comparison to his; and doesn’t miss the way she flinches at his touch. Though he’s loath to admit it, he knows it to be true; the Toriel he knew had been left behind in the dust and flame.

Gerson pulls him from his ruminations with a pointed look and an exasperated snort. “Looky here, Fluffybuns; this ain’t the time or the place for a reunion. People are wantin’ answers about their families, _these_ two have been through the wringer...if you don’t act, and soon, a lot of Monsters are gonna lose HoPe.”

 

“You’re right, Gerson.”

 

“No shit.”

 

Hesitantly, he pulls away from Toriel’s defeated form and gestures to the guards. “You, tell everyone that the barrier will be broken shortly. And you, escort these four to the castle.” At his words, ‘Papyrus’ steps gingerly off the ferry, still huddled within the blanket. Asgore suppresses a wince as he ogles the skeleton’s splintered jaw; just the sight of it is enough to make him clutch his own in sympathy. “...And fetch our guests a healer.”

 

* * *

 

The sky is a bright, searing white as usual.

From Papyrus’ resting place in the field, the stalks obscure his view. He scrambles to his feet at once; that goat woman...he had to find her. She’d likely be distraught, to say the least. But she wasn’t alone, not like he had been for so long in this place. He listens close for something, anything to point him in the right direction; the bitter weeping in the hills seems like a safe bet.

He finds her curled up in the fetal position in the grass. Papyrus could relate. The skeleton kneels by her side, gently shushing and patting her to ease her quaking.

“I’M HERE, IT'S ALRIGHT…SHH...I KNOW-”

She lunges onto him in seconds.

One paw wrapped around his ulna and radius, the other at his vertebrae. Snarling maw just inches from his face. “You _know._ Just like you _knew_.” Toriel spits. Her grip tightens, the telltale pop and snap of fractured bone follows soon after. He yelps at the sound, but doesn’t pull away, transfixed by the inky black seeping from his ruined arm. Papyrus could take it. She sees the submission in his eyes, and it only fuels her rage even more.

“You’re letting this happen”, she takes hold of his skull by his mandible, seizing it roughly before slamming it down into the grass. Spots fill his vision...or were they filling the sky? He couldn’t tell. “Just like you let _it_ happen, just like you let me walk down those stairs-”

Papyrus tries to rise from the dirt. “I DIDN’T WANT TO--!”

“ _Shut up._ ” Pressed back in the grass, skull rebounding off the ground with a thud. Toriel rears back and throttles him full force, hard enough to give him whiplash. An unbidden sob escapes from his mouth.

 _"Shut up.”_ Again. 

_“Shut up!”_ Again.

 _“Shut up!!"_ And again.

“You knew!”, she screams atop him, finally stopping to clutch a split paw dripping black ooze like pus. “It was just as you said! It escalated just as you said! You let me walk down there! You could have...you could have…”

Something drips onto his shattered maxilla. He can't see her face. He can't see anything. But Papyrus feels her crumple onto his ribcage, and hears the miserable groan dragged out from her soul with a sorrow that won’t let her breathe.

“ _Why didn’t you kill me..? Wh-why…"_

It eats at her from the inside. It sears her like acid, and he can feel with growing panic the way she sloughs off into the world around them. “NO...NO NO--...DON’T DO THAT. YOU DON’T--...YOU DON’T WANT TO DO THAT.”

With a heaving grunt, the dead weight of Papy’s useless arm is hefted upon her in a crude show of compassion; she’s too far gone to notice, but he had to try. Soft and low, he speaks. “I DIDN’T WANT TO BE LIKE HIM. I THOUGHT I COULD DO IT, I KNOW I SHOULD HAVE...BUT WHEN YOU SAID I WAS JUST AS BAD AS HE WAS…I _CAN’T_ ...I CAN’T TAKE BEING _THAT._ ”

She goes still for a few moments, then stabilizes; shoving off of him and sagging into the grass at his side. The silence in their idyllic realm drags on, belying the tension between them. After some time, Toriel is the first to speak.

“You’re a _coward_.”

“I KNOW.”

“I _hate_ you.”

“IF YOU MUST. FOR WHAT IT’S WORTH...I’M SORRY, FRIEND-”

“Toriel. I am Toriel, caretaker of the ruins.”

That stung, but he understood the sentiment. The title? Not so much. Sure, Papyrus himself was _technically_ still a sentry and could consider himself as such but...there was no real point to that in a place like this, was there? Gaster had defiled everything about his old life anyway, so there was no sense in clinging to the past. His vision clears, and that same washed-out sky bleeds into view. She made no sense to him.

“NO SENSE AT ALL…” he mouths at it.

“Really.” A vast shadow eclipses him as Toriel glowers at his prone form and he strains to look at her from his spot in the grass. He eyes her mending fist, then the tracks of tears and mucus dribbling from her snout.

 

“Look at us both...and tell me we aren’t ruins.”

 

* * *

 

It _itches_. ‘Toriel’ squirms at the strange sensation in her flesh, and Gaster is sorely tempted to discard all pretenses, all the trappings of propriety and politeness, to strip down and scratch.

The queen’s old quarters in the castle are modest, with a few opulent additions. Bedecked with vaulted ceilings, large mirrors and a set of oversized chairs, it was obvious that it was made with her enjoyment and comfort in mind. After their prompt escort, the healers in the castle fussed about; flitting around to check ‘Toriel’ over. A Sea-Tea and some time with their best nurse, and ‘Papyrus’ was right as rain. What concerned them, was the grim possibility that their queen would Fall Down after suffering such an ordeal. Her jittery movements, not to mention the look of clear discomfort upon her face, are both a sure indication that she was still in need of help. They would try their best to provide it. She shifts uneasily in the chair.

“Is there anything that you require, Queen Toriel?”

There’s the cool trickle of something grainy and fine sifting out of her nose; she rushes to conceal it with a paw. “Leave me. _Now._ ”, she growls.

“R-right away, madam!” Though taken aback at her gruff request, the healers nearly stumble over themselves scurrying to fulfill it.

 

They've barely been out of the room a minute when ‘Toriel’ undresses, shredding the robe in the process to scrape at the irritated flesh. It had to stop. Gaster had to make it stop. When he finally makes it cease, the hands of his host are slick with blood and dust. He catches a glimpse of her back in one of the sizeable mirrors, and with a macabre, clinical fascination inspects his handiwork. Every spot on her that he could reach is rubbed raw and bleeding, save for an expansive spiderwebbing of deepest black beneath the white fur, within the rosy swaths of previously healed skin, writhing inside angry red tissue. A single sharp bit of it protrudes from her shoulder blade, no bigger than the tip of a claw. He gives it a tentative prod; it retreats back into ~~her~~ his flesh. _‘Most peculiar…it appears I’ve made a grievous error.’_ , Gaster muses, observing the whip-like motions of the object as it recedes…his self within his “self”. He never had such an issue with Papyrus, but then again, Papy was just bones; no magical flesh to disturb when the shrapnel occupied more space. As if on cue, it embeds itself deeper into his new host; producing a fresh stream of black-flecked dust from her muzzle. That wouldn't do, he couldn't have Toriel catching a case of the deads quite yet! There was fun to be had!

  
It seemed he'd have to move things along quicker than he’d like.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Loooong Note: Hooo boy.... This was a doozy to write. I've actually been working on this since I updated the last chapter, but then I cut it down cause it didn't quite flow right; the cut portions will be in the next chapter! 
> 
> The other reason this was hard to write, is simply the content. Alcoholism is heavy, so is loss, so is guilt. Throughout writing this story, I've taken the stance of simply "writing this Husk inspired thing, lemme get these cool ideas out for Boner and everyone else to read!". Which is fine. But I focused so much on that, that I neglected to invest more of myself into this. For that, I am sorry. 
> 
> Sans could easily be me; I could easily succumb to the perils of alcoholism without help and restraint. Hell, I almost did! Expect to see that in the story. 
> 
> Toriel could easily be me; losing a child changes people in ways you can't really imagine until you live it. As I have experienced this to some extent, expect to see this portrayed as realistically as I can muster. 
> 
> Papyrus is stuck in a hell partially of his own making, and due to this fact feels responsible for the suffering Toriel endures. Broken though he is, he's still a caring skelly at heart. Expect some feels. 
> 
> Anyhoo, that's all for now! THE FLUFF IS COMING, I PROMISE. Just gimme a couple of chapters. And no, I didn't forget about Alphys and Undyne, in case you were wondering. :D


	11. So Much Hate For The Ones We Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tell me we both matter...don't we?
> 
> Or,
> 
> "Fuuuuuuck fukn fUCKing shit I rewrote this five, FIVE times on a broken cellphone JUST TAKE IT"
> 
> Or,
> 
> "The Rise and Fall of Two Friends".

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay! I am awake! Hence, the new note! :D
> 
> Tunes for this chapter are "Running Up That Hill" by Placebo and "Absentee" by Thank You Scientist.
> 
> I have plenty of headcanons about Mettaton, Alphys and their friendship, specifically about how things devolved from a relatively normal friendship to the strain and disdain they've got going on. So, I ran with it. I hope it's a good read! T_T

_There's a polite knock at the door, followed by the nervous shuffling of clawed feet. Mettablook looked over the house once more before greeting the guests. Movies? Check. Fashion magazines? Check. Miraculously undamaged cassettes, courtesy of a very generous cousin? Check! Finally, it was time; the very first meeting of the human fanclub! Mettablook had hoped that Blooky would change their mind and attend, but they would respect their need for space._

_The door is flung open wide, and Mettablook makes their grand appearance! The “stage” lights are blaring (several lamps with the shades removed, expertly positioned for optimal lighting on the ghost’s “good” side). The_ ~~_stove_ ~~ _“smoke machine”  provides an air of mystery, although the mystery is whether or not the hors d'oeuvres within are still edible. Mettablook strikes a flamboyant pose, just as they had practiced so many times in their bedroom mirror; nonexistent chest puffed out, with a ten watt smile and a barely smoldering gaze to (maybe) die for (but only if you're feeling up to it)._

_They are, without a doubt, the fiercest sentient sheet to open a door to a fire hazard._

_“hello, darlings!”, they purr at their audience. Grey smoke billows out of the door dramatically as Mettablook pauses for effect. “and welcome to the human fanclub!”_

_…_

_There's silence, then a few hacking coughs, and Mettablook starts to wonder if perhaps Cosmopolitan was not the paragon of advice it made itself out to be. Finally the smoke clears to reveal…_

_‘that weird lizard nerd from the dump? ugh, i guess this will have to do.’_

_She fidgets in the doorway, nervously scraping and tapping her clawed feet along the worn down welcome mat when she speaks. Her hands fiddle with the strap of a dingy messenger bag draped over her shoulder. “I, uh…th-think that I might be the only one here. C-can I come in?” The disappointment on Mettablook’s face must have been obvious, and the sweaty monster rambles on. “Y-you really don't have to…it just s-seems like you might be a bit lonely! N-not that I don't know what it's like! I g-get lonely too-”_

_“you're ruining my mat.” the ghost cuts her off before giving her what was meant to be a long, hard stare. It's as intimidating as googly eyes pasted onto a pillowcase. She sweats more anyway._

_With a long-suffering sigh, they beckon their lone guest inside. She looks around curiously at the human posters and memorabilia, squinting through the lingering wisps of smoke, until she lays eyes on something that subtly piques her interest-_

_“OH MY GOD YOU HAVE ANIME!”_

_-and clambers over to the shelf of obscure dvd’s. In her excitement, her hefty tail plows into several lights in succession, sending all of them crashing harmlessly into Mettablook before hitting the floor. Shattered glass covers the plush pink carpet._

_“Oh no! I'm so s-s-sorry!”, she gasps, stopping her crazed weeaboo dash to stumble over to Mettablook. Timidly she inspects them; fussing over the ghost like a mother hen as she checks for scratches and bruises. “A-are you alright? I didn’t mean to h-hurt you...I just got s-s-so excited and-! Oh gosh, th-that had to have hurt...right?”_

_Shrugging off her concern, Mettablook phases through her, eliciting a shiver from the scaly monster. Floating nonchalantly, they close the door left ajar in her haste before answering her question. “your concern is appreciated, but it’s fine. i…don't feel.”_

_“Whoa, really?” She quirks her brow at that notion._

_“i’m a ghost, silly. it goes right through me; doesn't even touch my soul. i didn't feel a thing. besides, ghost monsters can't get damaged.”_

_Well, that wasn't quite true; one particularly cranky member of the family had a habit of wearing the stuffing right out of their dummy during their more…mercurial moods. Maddablook could tear through a new dummy like wet tissue paper if you riled them up enough, not to mention that awful magic missile dodgeball hobby of theirs._

 

_In any case, it was reason enough to add a hasty disclaimer of, “at least not normally.”_

_“Wow…th-that's…” She looks perplexed, then pensive. Nibbling on a thumbnail, the yellow monster looks...somewhat endearing, though Mettablook would be loath to admit it. ”Th-that’s actually kinda sad.”, she murmurs._

 

_Now that was interesting…perhaps there was more to her than just being a gross, sweaty nerd? The ghost fades from view, only to appear inches from her face. She squeaks in terror, but doesn't budge._

_“oh really? it sounds ‘sad’ to you...” Mettablook circles around her, playing up the (mildly) scary ghost act. The girl was fun to antagonise, and strangely enough, she seemed to have a teensy bit of a backbone! Albeit one buried in fangirl trash and foot-in-mouth syndrome. “did you really mean that? or are you just quoting a scene from that god-awful manga you read?”_

_She's perturbed at their attempt to neg at her, not to mention unsure of herself and of the reaction she might get by speaking her mind. But she'd already put her foot in her mouth; might as well get it over with. Hopefully she wouldn't be kicked out of the club by the end of this._

_“Of c-course I meant it! Look...I might not be the most socially adept monster in the underground, but I_ **_am_ ** _observant. What's there to gain in a life where you're never_ **_really_ ** _exposed? Where nothing, and no one, can touch your soul…?”_

_They stop circling her, flickering from sight a few times before turning to look her in the eye. She finds herself hoping, wishing, praying that the earth would just open up and swallow her whole. It appeared that this was a sensitive subject._

 

_“I…uh…I'm s-sorry…geez…I'm b-being insensitive I’lljustgonow-”_

_She bolts from her spot, and her hand is on the doorknob before Mettablook can stop her. “no, wait! wait! it's okay! please stay!”_

 

_It was? She faces the ghost; curiously, they seem pleased._

_“you’re not wrong, and i’ve thought the same thing. my name is mettablook, by the way.”_

_“I'm Alphys!”, she beams. Rummaging through her bag, Alphys takes out a set of  scuffed VHS tapes. “I’ve brought some h-human history videos, if you wanna watch?”_

 

* * *

 

_“I've b-been thinking…”_

 

_That was an understatement, if the rhythmic thumping of her tail was any indication._

_Over the years, they had fallen into a pleasant routine; every Friday that Alphys had off from The Core, she would come by. The two of them would chat about life, sprawled out in the center of the floor feeling like garbage as they watched what she had dubbed ‘human history videos’ (which were just cartoons, though Mettablook didn't have the heart to correct her). This week was Mettablook’s pick, and though they didn't exactly expect her to rave about the costume design in “Gone With The Wind”, they certainly didn't expect her to be mute and distant all evening. They rise to pause the movie; whatever it was, she would have their full attention._

_“i can tell”, they chuckle. “so spill! who's the lucky monster? that fish girl?”_

_A ruddy blush tinges her cheeks, driving her voice up a few octaves as she protests. “Whoa, w-what? No! N-no no...there's this opening at the Core…for the position of Royal Scientist. You have to present something that would show off your q-qualifications...”_

_Ah, Mettablook had heard about that. The last Royal Scientist had disappeared for…some reason. They couldn't quite remember why. Is that what the fuss was about then; interview jitters? She was smart, and had tenure there; of course she had a shot at the position! They open their mouth to tell her so, but she starts to ramble._

_”I've always w-wanted to help people...I don't know if I can do it alone, or if this would even work, but I've got an idea and...I-know-it’s-really-unexpected-and-none-of-my-business-at-all-and-I-should-seriously-learn-to-stop-meddling-in-people’s-problems-”_

_She's flailing, gasping as the words tumble out of her mouth a mile a minute. None of it makes any sense, and Mettablook groans at her incessant chatter._

 

_“okay, that's all well and good, but what! in the hell! does that have to do with-”_

 

_“H-here!”_

_A blueprint is shoved into their face. There's greasy hand prints on the paper, accompanied by errant coffee mug rings. But the design is sleek; shiny black chassis, vivid pink soul casement, and that face! By God, what a face! If looks could kill, that was death by glamour! Mettablook pores over the details a while longer, gushing over the intricacies of the print until Alphys steps excitedly into view._

 

_“It's y-your body! Or at least it's gonna be your body! I think...I think you deserve a body as stellar as you.”_

_“i...i…”_

_The floorboards beneath Mettablook begin to hiss; the acid tears streaming from their eyes have burned a hole in the carpet and leave tiny pits in the wood. Alphys swipes the print out of the way before any damage can be done, but Mettablook doesn't care; how could they care about something as petty as carpet or paper at a time like this? They could finally have it! They could finally have the body they deserved, the life they dreamed of!_

 

_“...i don't know what to say.”_

 

* * *

  
_A newspaper is slammed upon Alphys’ cluttered desk with a deafening smack, snapping her out of her calculations. She yelps as a flurry of blueprints and charts are sent flying, and scrambles after a neglected stack of memos careening to the floor. “W-what the **hell**_ , dude?!”

_She looks up at Mettaton; his display is a deep red, noodly arms shuddering and fists clenched._

 

 _“You fucking_ **_used_ ** _me!”_

 

_“W-what? Mettaton-”_

 

_“You know exactly what!” He picks up the newspaper, roughly pointing to the headline on the front page:_

_‘Genius Royal Scientist Creates Mettaton; The First Artificial Soul’._

_Alphys blanches._

 

 _”You_ **_lied_ ** _to them…you lied to them and you lied to me!” he shouts. Assistants and interns mull about outside her office, drawn out by the racket within._

 

_“M-m-mettaton, w-wait! C-calm down and keep quiet-”_

 

 _“No! Fuck no! You told them you created a soul! That_ **_I_ ** _was that soul! All that bullshit about me being your friend; about me deserving to be who I wanted to be…it was just so you could pretend to be this great person, this great scientist_ **_that you're not!_ ** _” How dare she? He’s livid, and rightfully so. It wasn't just the aspect of his own betrayal. No, Mettaton could have forgiven that in time; Alphys was a friend after all. But she sold the Underground a false hope, and his very existence in this form was part and parcel of that._

 

_He was a walking, talking lie._

_”They believed in you..._ **_I_ ** _believed in you. You've made frauds of us both, you know that?!”_

_On her hands and knees, she crawls frantically toward him, grasping desperately at his metallic frame. “P-please…don't tell them! I'm b-begging you! This is all I have! I-it's all I'm worth; I have nothing else!” He’s disgusted with her pleading; how could he not be? Every part of him wants to rush out that door and expose her to the entire underground, deal with whatever consequences come and pick up the pieces where they fall. Alphys continues, placated by the fact that he hasn't. ”I've got a p-plan, okay? I c-can make this right!”_

 

_One day, when the entire truth would come out, he'd look back on this day as the day that he could have changed so much. It was the one and only time he could have thrown a monkey wrench into the cogs she had turning. Hindsight, in all its useless glory, would always be 20/20._

_“How the hell do you figure?! You can't just make a soul out nothing!”_

 

_“I don't plan to.”_

 

* * *

 

 

_It's the wee hours of the morning when Mettaton receives a phone call from a number he's never seen before. Though he was tempted to just ignore it altogether, the decent monster within him couldn't just hit the ‘fuck you’ button. Late night calls, as a rule, were generally foreboding. Hopefully it was just Burgerpants calling to tell him they were sold out of Glamburgers again._

_“Hello-”_

_Mechanical clanging, followed by low groans of what had to be a multitude of monsters nearly drown out the voice on the other end of the receiver. “Oh god-...oh god, it's bad...I f-f-fucked up! I fucked up so bad-”_

 

_“Alphys? Are you alright? What is going on over there?! What are you-”_

_The groans turn to shrieks, growing to a fever pitch so loud it makes the speaker crackle. Alphys sobs. “I can't...I can't, I shouldn't have…oh god! It'll never be alright; th-th-they won't stay solid! There's no fixing this, there's no fixing this, there's NO FIXING THIS-”_

 

_The line goes dead._

 

_“Alphys...? Alphys?”_

 

* * *

  


_Stale air fills the lab. Motes of dust float in the air, illuminated by the scant bit of light shining from the television. Alphys sits hunched in front of it on the couch, eyes sunken and red, staring at the static on the screen; clutched in her claws is a jumbo bag of dog food. Mettaton approaches slowly; impeded by stacks upon stacks of notes surrounding her. He stands, unspeaking, in front of her for some time before she looks up at him._

 

_“Darling, it's been weeks...where have you been?”_

_“Here. Or the dump”, Alphys murmurs. Her voice is raspy, creaky with disuse. She smiles up at Mettaton, but it's hollow and tired. He found he'd much preferred her anxious smiles and fangirling to...whatever_ **_this_ ** _was. ”It's my element, you know? Heh.”_

_That was...unlike her. Sure, she was a bit self deprecating, anxious, even erratic at times. But this was more than that; this was total neglect of self. The lab coat she wears has seen better days, riddled with spots and stains he didn't care to know the origin of._

_“Have you eaten? Or bathed, or…?”_

 

_“Does it matter?”_

 

_“I would think that it does! What the hell has gotten into you lately?” He takes the dog food out of her hands and lifts Alphys off of the couch; she doesn't protest as she's carried off to the bathroom, then dumped unceremoniously into the shower. The water hits her full blast, and Mettaton yanks the curtain closed so she can undress. Alphys doesn't bother, just curls up under the spray listening to him drone on as scalding water runs down her face._

_“You called me at some ungodly hour, freaking the fuck out and offering me no explanation as to_ **_why_ ** _!” He thrusts a hand through the curtain. “Clothes.”_

 

_“Y-you don't h-h-have to-”_

 

_“_ **_Now._ ** _”_

 

_With a heavy sigh, Alphys struggles with the soaked fabric for a few minutes before shredding them with her claws in frustration. They're dropped into his outstretched hand with a wet plop. It's replaced with another hand, laden with toiletries; begrudgingly, she takes them from his grasp and begins to scour weeks of grime off her scales._

 

_From the other side of the curtain, the telltale sound of Mettaton rifling through her closet reaches her ears. She peeks through once he returns awhile later; a fluffy bathrobe and nightgown are set on the counter._

 

_“I-I don't deserve this.”_

 

_“And?” The water shuts off, and a fuzzy towel is tossed haphazardly upon her head.  “I know we aren't on the best of terms right now, but I've been ringing your phone nonstop for weeks trying to find you! So! You and I are going to talk, whether you like it or not.”_

 

_“I'd uh, really rather n-not-"_

 

_He shoves his hand through the curtain a third and final time; this time with a hot cup of instant noodles in tow, complete with a set of MTT brand chopsticks._

 

_“Um…y-you expect me to eat that in here?”_

 

_“Oh, I'm sorry, did you somehow acquire standards in the past few weeks? My apologies.”_

  


_Alphys takes the noodles._

  


* * *

 

 

_Hours later, as Mettaton stands in her kitchen washing her mountain of dishes, she finally speaks._

 

_“Y-you were right.”, Alphys mumbles._

 

_He doesn't skip a beat. Scrub. Rinse. Repeat. She starts to ponder if Mettaton had heard her at all, when he replies coolly. “About?”_

 

_“A-about me, about the l-lies.”_

 

_Mettaton dismisses her with a wave. “That's obvious. But you being sneaky and deceitful is old news.”_

 

_Ouch._

 

_The last dish clatters in the sink, and he doesn't even bother looking her way before setting about drying them. “No, we're past that. What I want to know, and what you're going to tell me, is what happened that night you called me. You scared me, Alphys.”_

 

_Could she do it?_

_Could she tell him what she did?_

 

_No; Mettaton was already made complicit in enough of her lies. Best to keep it vague._

 

_“I f-f-failed. That's all. I d-do that a lot. I'd end it all, but I'd p-probably fail at that too.”_

 

_The dinosaur teacup he's drying nearly slips from his grasp and he turns to her in panic. “You...you're saying that you thought of-”_

 

_It's Alphys’ turn to wave him off. “D-dont worry about it. It's n-not your problem anymore. B-besides…I'll finish your r-real body if it's the last thing I do.”_

 

* * *

  


It's an odd, cold feeling; standing in the eye of something unstoppable, being so small in the wake of something you could never hope to stop or change. It doesn't quite hurt.

Not yet.

Mettaton considers this as he stands in a certain clearing far off of Snowdin’s main road, watching dust and tattered shreds of Alphys’ lab coat blow gently over the snow drifts. The trees before him bear a massive gash scored with a single, continuous scorch mark. He had already walked the length of it; the hollowed out path stretched nearly a mile before it terminated into the rock face.

Scooping up the dust is an ordeal; it sticks to the freshly fallen snow, coating his hands like a paste. After nearly an hour of effort he's left with barely a handful of Alphys’ dust; not even a fraction of all that she was or could have been. Mettaton wraps it lovingly in a particularly large scrap of her lab coat, plucks a bright red glove off the ground and makes the long trek home.

 

* * *

 

Blooky finds him in Waterfall; head in his hands, perched on Undyne’s stoop. They approach silently as to not disturb their cousin. It's pointless; Mettaton flashes the ghost a brilliant smile as soon as they approach.

 

“Blooky! Darling! What brings you-”

 

“stop.”

 

They hover close, taking a seat with their beloved cousin on the stoop. He's still smiling. Smiling as if it's the most natural thing in the world. As if there's nothing out of place in the Underground. As if Alphys was coming home.

 

“i know you said to wait for you, to wait for her…but when i saw you on the monitor, i knew…”

 

She wasn't.

 

Alphys wasn't, and here he sat in the skin she made for him; flaws and all. The same skin he berated her about, the same body that nearly broke them. He can't stop smiling; the artificial musculature beneath that perfect face pulls tight, then tighter still. A parody of joy.

 

Looking down at his hands, Mettaton eyes the dried mud and dust caked betwixt his fingers.

The hurt sets in.

“I...I don't want it”, he whispers. Something fine and gritty sifts in the crevices of his arm segments; the feeling sets him into hysterics. “I don't want it anymore. I don't _want it anymore. I DON'T WANT IT ANYMORE!”_

 

For the first time in a long time, he leaves his body. It topples over limply; without a soul to inhabit it, the thing was nothing more than a doll. Acid pools beneath Mettablook, and Napstablook pulls them into a ghostly hug neither of them feel.

 

“how did it happen?”, Blooky asks.

 

Their cousin pulls out of the embrace. From the ground, they pluck a simple red glove.

“that's papyrus’…”, Blooky gasps. “where did you find it?”

 

“the same place i found alphys.”

 

Mettablook turns the glove over and over in their small, almost transparent hands while they speak. “he killed her. i don't know why, or how, but he did. and i won't let him get away with it, but…is it selfish to say that i’m exhausted already? that i’m scared?” They grip the glove tightly before tossing it to the ground in defeat. “i’m garbage, blooky…”

 

“n-no…” Blooky, bless their heart, takes their cousin’s tremulant hands in their own, pressing them to their pale face. “i understand how you feel,” they whisper. “i’ll stand by you, okay? we'll do it together.”

 

* * *

 

A strange light fills the Underground.

Twilight shines through where the barrier once stood.

With the last human soul, Asgore released his subjects from their centuries-long bondage, bringing them hope once more. But as he looks out upon the Capitol, out into the growing crowd, he can't help but to notice those missing from the sea of familiar faces.

  
He is filled with…trepidation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter: Alphys and Undyne make a friend at the beach.


	12. When Time And Life Shook Hands And Said Goodbye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When the earth folded in on itself  
> And said "Good luck!"
> 
> Or,
> 
> "Finally! Some of the plot I've been waiting forever to establish! And some humor! Good God..."
> 
> Also,
> 
> "Special appearance from Maximum-Overboner's Monstersona, Flotsam! Used with permission."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mood tunes for this chapter, "Ocean Breathes Salty" by Modest Mouse and "Retrovertigo" by Mr. Bungle.
> 
> I! Have been working diligently to finish up this chapter! I tried to make this as concise as possible. I really hope you enjoy the last few chapters of this arc! Yes, arc. This feels train is nowhere near the station.

_ “nope.” _

_ It's a less than serious word, from a less than serious skeleton, about a matter that was altogether...immensely serious. Alphys looked at Sans; perched precariously on filing cabinet, scruffy dress shoes swinging in the open air. A bit of his sock peeps out of the faux leather, and the hard sole peeling off his shoe flaps merrily in time to his swaying legs. It was all perfectly innocuous, so wonderfully droll, that she almost didn't flinch when Gaster responded. Almost. _

_ ‘I beg your pardon?’ _

 

_ Hoo boy. _

 

_ The crowd of slack-jawed interns and assistants parts; he sidles over slowly, all amorphous shapes and reined in vitriol. This was it; Sans was done, it's a wrap, there was no fucking way he could joke himself out of this one. The skeleton in question doesn't bat a socket. Legs swinging at an easy pace, leisurely taking swigs of flat soda out of a chipped beaker. _

_ “nah. as in nope. nein. non. do not pass go, do not collect-” _

_ ‘Yes, I heard that. Quite clearly, in fact. What I'm asking is, precisely who do you think you are to suggest that you have a choice? You, like every one of these insignificant pustules here, are under  _ **_my_ ** _ employ. I say ‘jump’, you ask ‘how high’. I say ‘you have been chosen to conduct a series of highly dangerous experiments in a place that is a theoretical impossibility’, and you say-’ _

_ “ _ **_hell. no._ ** _ ” _

 

_ A spindly intern; one of the more recent additions; bites the inside of her cheek to smother a chortle. Another, more...seasoned colleague faints outright. With a belch and a stretch, Sans lounges on the beat up cabinet before he continues. _

_ ”look, you want a guy to math shit up for you? i’m that guy. you want a guy to bat around ideas with? i’m that guy, too. you wanna have a circle-jerk between theoretical mathematics and magical applications? i’m your dude. that's one-hundred percent my shit.  _ **_that_ ** _ , however…is most definitely fucking  _ **_not_ ** _.” _

_ He gestures simply to ‘that’, or at the very least the general direction of it; the secondary lab several levels beneath the observation room in which they all stood. The center platform within it housed the only way into ‘that’, a space without time. It wasn't so much a ‘place that time forgot’ as it was a place that looked at the concept of past, present, and future, thought ‘huh, cute’ and proceeded to use it as toilet paper. If Sans wanted to, he could step right over to the triple-pane glass and look at ‘it’ in all its unsettling glory. He had no desire to do so. _

_ They didn't know exactly how or why the...thing...worked the way it did. It simply came to be; submerged and contained beneath the magic and magma of The Core, mere months after it was complete. Sans had speculated that it was but a side effect of having a huge amount of magic in such a relatively small place. What they did surmise, is that those lacking in Determination would have quite a difficult time (heh) existing there; the will to exist being paramount in such a place.  _

_ Gaster, with his centuries of insight, promptly decided to do the scientific equivalent of poking it with a sharp stick. Several dozen trials, an over-inflated lab budget, and an astronomical turnover rate later...he finally had the resources to test his theory. He needed his very best and brightest for the task; absolutely no room for error or missteps! And Sans...Sans was his absolute best! He helped make The Core possible! _

 

_ He was also refusing. _

_ Towering over him, Gaster seethes. ‘You are contractually obligated! You don't get to-’ _

_ “i'm not going in the nope zone.” _

_ ‘It! Is not called the ‘nope zone’! Its designation is Abnormally Sequestered Space!’ _

_ “you named it ‘ASS'?” _

 

_ … _

 

_ There's a deafening snort, followed by a braying cackle. Horrified, the sea of fearful assistants gazes at the glorious snickering buffoon in their midst. Alphys turns to the source; the same skinny monster from earlier. What was her name? Flotsam or something? She mouths a mortified ‘what is wrong with you?!’ at the reedy intern, motioning frantically for her to hide. With a muted yelp, Flotsam ducks under the table before Gaster can look her way- _

_ “Mother of fuck!” _

_ -And promptly cracks her head on the leg of the table. _

 

_ Smooth. _

 

* * *

 

Undyne was a lot of things; cunning, passionate, and driven being some of them. ‘Patient’ and ‘technically skilled’ were, unsurprisingly, not one of those things. So it should come as no shock that upon hearing Alphys fervently (and incoherently) ramble on about whatever plan she thought up, the captain is left rubbing her temples in frustration.

Undyne sighs, “Run that by me again.  _ Slowly _ , this time.”

 

“Okay, s-so…the core isn't just  _ one  _ level.” Kneeling in the fine sand, Alphys scrawls a crude rendition of The Core, followed by several sections underneath it that Undyne didn't recognize. She points at the first drawing. “You've got the t-top, which stands above the lava. The offices and whatnot are in that section.”

Moving on, Alphys gestures to one of the unfamiliar portions she drew. ”Below that sits the Observation Room and the primary lab-”

“Hold up, observation for  _ what? _ ”

“I'm g-getting to that! The place that  _ we _ want to get to is a couple of levels b-beneath the Observation Room.” She drags her claw one...two...three levels down. ”It's a s-secondary lab...and the only place with access to the  _ real  _ Core.”

“Okay, time the fuck out. You mean to tell me that metal thing sitting in lava ain't the real core?”

 

“Yes, and no…I-it's complicated.”

 

The squat yellow monster pauses, then takes a deep breath before continuing. The glint in her eyes is something Undyne had sorely missed in her time at the beach. She had taken it for granted; those brief moments when Alphys shook off the anxiety, so enthralled by whatever incited her ardor (be it anime or, in this case, plotting afoot) that the stutter is an afterthought, and all that's left behind is fervor and  _ her _ . She speaks clinically, confidently, and under more favorable circumstances, Undyne wouldn't pass up the chance to give her a compliment or five. Now was...really not the time; she wasn't sure if it ever would be.

 

“The Core, the thing that powers the entire underground, is a two part system…you've got the bright part that everyone knows about; it's super condensed magic, lava, not to mention heat and light in constant flux.” Alphys directs Undyne once more to the scribbles in the sand. “But beneath that is...something else entirely. Sans used to call it the 'Nope' Zone.”

 

“For real?” Undyne scoffs. “The 'Nope’ Zone? So he just looked at that shit, went 'Nope’, and went about his day?”

 

Alphys nods in the affirmative.

 

“Okay, but…what is it? The hell does it  _ do _ ?”

 

“It’s a place that exists outside of time, buried under all the hotter, more visible portions of the core. No light. Nothing can exist there. I think...when he fell in, it ripped him from time. But for some reason, part of him is still hanging on here....in that shrapnel.” Alphys rises, brushing grains of sand off her lab coat. 

 

“You're gonna put him back.”

 

She looks up at Undyne, nearly ecstatic that she had caught on without much trouble. The grin she flashes falters when she eyes an extremely furious Undyne scowling down at her. ”What the  _ fuck,  _ Alphys?!  _ I'm _ the one who does stupid reckless shit, not you!”

 

That...wasn't entirely true. But Undyne didn't need to know that. She paces a bit, kicking up puffs of sand as she goes on. “Can you imagine how I'd feel, how pointless a world without you would be?!”

Seeing Alphys fidget under her gaze, she calms her outburst; mentally smacking herself for her own hypocrisy. This...really wasn't helping their situation. Sheepishly, Undyne changes the subject. “Okay, so...if Gaster falling in The Core is what started this mess, how exactly do you think walking into this ‘Nope Zone’ will help? What’s to stop the same thing from happening to you?”

“Y-you.”

 

Wait, what?

 

“I n-need you to shut down the section of The Core above the 'Nope Zone’. As for the whole ‘not existing’ part…Determination.”

 

* * *

  
  


They walk. They walk until their feet should blister, until the sun should be setting and the tide rolling in. But there's no weariness here, just the gentle breeze, the surf and the bluest sky they could ever hope to see. 

 

There is Peace here. 

They are safe.

 

Frisk wanders the beach, cheerfully plucking up sand dollars and pretty pebbles from the white sand. Humming happily, they gaze out into the horizon, watching the waves roll in-

 

A shrieking, flailing Alphys is heard in the distance. “Oh my gosh, it's a human!”

 

Welp. So much for Peace.

 

She drops down to all fours, then  _ bolts _ toward them...much faster than they had ever thought she was capable of. Huh. It seemed this day was full of surprises. A blue figure off in the distance yells at her to stop.

 

Alphys shouts back behind her...“Undyne! Undyne! It's time! It's almost time-”

 

And promptly trips over her own feet.

 

Smooth.

 

* * *

  
  


It was in fact,  _ not _ time, as Undyne had neglected to explain.

She lifts Alphys’ prone form out of the sand, gently dusting off her snout before setting her on her feet. The Royal Scientist sputters. “B-but...you said that a human appears r-right before the reset!”

 

“Yeah. You're right, I did say that. But  _ this _ …is not that human.”, she points at the small child gleefully making sand castles at their feet. “This is the human they’ll use to break the barrier.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter(s): Long awaited sad fluff


	13. Since We've Been Wrong(ed)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I've been part awake  
> You will never, ever know me."
> 
> Or,
> 
> This is weird. And I've been foreshadowing some of these plot developments for a while now lol

Something was wrong.

 

Well, more wrong than usual.

Consequences are funny things. Papyrus considered himself pretty familiar with them; after all, his confinement in the void was a consequence in and of itself. The end result of multiple poor decisions. And so, given his...extensive experience in all things consequential, there was a list of things Papyrus had come to expect.

 

The fleeting sensations from a body that _isn't_ his are not on that list. Nor are the whispers; the thoughts, the memories...all Toriel’s.

He smothers the temptation to meddle.

Lying in the wheat field, images of a bygone era spring to mind; unbidden and undoubtedly hers. Cobblestone roads in the rain. Large paws, white fur stained by crushed golden flowers. An adolescent monster, pale and fluffy, with budding horns and blushing cheeks.

 

There's a swirling rage on the surface of her mind, shaking off the apathy that kept him grounded throughout the countless resets. But beneath that...beneath sorrow, beneath agony...under the muck and mire of hatred...lies hope.

It terrifies Papyrus. If not for the simple fact that hope still existed within her heart, then for the fact that _he was like that once._

Papyrus tries to ignore it. He tries to dispute it, to discredit it. But blissful ignorance is out of his reach, and all it takes is a glance at her across his perfect little corner of hell to make his terror concrete:

Here he was, catching glimpses of a lifetime that dwarfed his own meager years.

Appraising her emotions like some sort of voyeur.

 

And if she was like _him…_

_Then who the hell was he?_

Papyrus was...he was…

 

No. He wasn't like _him_.

 

He stays away nonetheless.

 

* * *

 

Months pass.

Toriel bides her time.

 

After the trauma of their arrival, she spends her days listening, waiting for a chance to right the grievous wrong that was...well, Gaster as a whole. It's a fruitless effort. There's nothing to feel this time; no warmth, no taste of snails, no oily presence in her mind. She keeps trying to make her way back to her body nonetheless. It's an exercise in futility, but surely there was still a chance, however slim? As for Papyrus...

Toriel didn't quite know what to do with him.

It wasn't so much that she wanted to forgive him. No, forgiveness was a long, _long_ way off. Toriel simply wanted it to not be... _this._ This feeble attempt at giving her space when she can _feel_ him across the plain. This false silence when she can _hear_ him in her soul.

Hating him was an option; ever valid and unceasing, coiling in and feeding on itself like ouroboros incarnate. A hate like that could last lifetimes, aeons if things panned out...the way they seemed to be panning out. But Toriel...Toriel was not a hateful monster. Not truly. And while she couldn't justify his cowardice, the queen in her could, at the very least, understand it.

So, on one fine day; the same never ending day it had always been; Toriel walks to his usual spot in the wheat field. Papyrus doesn't respond when she looms over him, though for a brief moment, it seems as if the pips in his sockets become the slightest bit brighter in her presence.

 

“I've come to talk.”

 

“TO...TO ME?”

Papyrus is given a look; a wordless, almost exasperated gesture of ‘who the fuck else would it be’.

“Why does it look this way?”, Toriel asks, gesturing to their watercolor world. He knows what she's getting at; the recycled scenery on an endless loop. The settlement in the distance that, try as you might, you could never quite reach. The stagnant sun in an equally stagnant sky, washed-out white bleeding into a pitch black nothing at the edges…

Papyrus avoided looking at the edges.

“OH...YES, THAT. WHEN I FIRST CAME HERE, I MADE...WELL, _THIS_.” he says. “IT WAS EMPTY WHEN I ARRIVED. MY MIND FILLED IN THE BLANKS.”

 

 _That_ sparked her interest. Toriel hadn't considered the probability that he had a hand in making this place. Come to think of it, how _had_ he ended up here? Obviously it was caused by Gaster...Gaster-ing...

Papyrus continues, pulling Toriel from her musings. ”ITS THE CLOSEST THING I'LL GET TO BEING ON THE SURFACE.”

“Except this is nothing like the surface. Not really. It's like you copied it straight from a storybook-”

 

“I DID.”

 

_Oh._

 

He looks up at Toriel with a muted grin and hopeful eyes; two shining little pips that remind her of children long gone. “WHAT WAS IT LIKE? THE SURFACE?”

Papyrus doesn't have to ask; if he really wanted to know, all he had to do was look. It's not like any part of her was truly hidden to him, not anymore. There was, however, a huge difference between things taken and things given.

Gaster was undoubtedly a taker. And in spite of their budding similarities, Papyrus was determined not to be.

 

”ALL THE TIMES WE'VE BEEN THERE, I'VE NEVER BEEN ABLE TO ENJOY IT. BUT...YOU USED TO LIVE THERE, RIGHT? WHAT WAS IT LIKE FOR YOU?”, he asks.

The stillness around them wavers in the slightest. There's a pounding, rushing, roaring through his head. That's new. Oh god, that was new. It doesn't hurt, Papyrus is happy to note. But its presence is is familiar and shocking; it's something immense, a herald of change. What was it, _what was it,_ **_he knew what it was, why didn't he remember anymore-_ **

A weak little chuckle creeps out of her mouth, peeping out before growing into barking, earnest laughter.

 

Joy.

 

Papyrus had forgotten joy. He's nearly floored by the rush of it. In haste, he tries vainly to pull himself together; he's crumbling mortar in the wake of cannon fire, collapsing eaves under pressure, reigning in the bits and bobs of himself falling to dust in their static world. He glances at Toriel with wonder.

“My favorite thing about the surface, was dusk. When the stars came out, one by one. When the sun dipped low and the sky was ablaze with color. I remember my last one, with Asgore.” Her eyes, closed in bliss as she speaks, crinkle with mirth at the edges. Was this strange? Had she finally lost herself in this place?

Maybe, and quite likely.

 

Finally, there was _something_ ...something besides tears and fear, regrets long simmering. Nostalgia was such a fragile respite; all it would really take was a whisper from _him_ to tear it asunder. So she claims it, cradles it, digs in with both heels and refuses to give it up. If she was finally insane, an old woman lost to a time long past then so be it. Toriel continues, awash with memory.

”We didn't know what the dawn would bring. So we made the most of it.”

The grass at her feet becomes dark, as if it sat in the shade of something massive. Toriel doesn't notice. A spike of fear bubbles up within Papyrus, tearing him from the spectacle seeping into his soul. He waits with bated breath for their peace to shatter, for Gaster to stick his multitudes of greedy hands where they weren't welcome. For a voice to mock him, whether it be his own, or hers, or that garbled rasp of nightmare fuel that was Gaster’s alone.

 

It never comes.

Come to think of it, when had he heard him last? It had to have been months, now. No, no...that didn't make sense. Gaster was always there, always watching, always waiting, always listening. That was a constant to his reality, a constant until…until...

Until they came back here, and his voice was replaced by butterscotch and snails.

 

What...what had Papyrus  _really_ done when he possessed Toriel?

 

“I remember the way home”, Toriel murmurs in her reverie. “We could barely see our hands in front of our faces, or the trail, or even the sky overhead. But those _stars_ …They were enough. Enough for me to see them glint in Gorey’s eyes.”

The darkness grows beneath her feet, leaching upward into the sky itself. Any semblance of fear withers away, replaced in his soul by a chill he refuses to name. Papyrus watches as the field changes, bit by cursed bit. A column of midnight blue rises in the center of his sunny imitation of the surface, flecked with shimmering lights both big and small, and every size in between. The grass is worn away, emulating a trail beaten down by countless footsteps. The once stagnant sky bears a stripe of murky blue, with barely a sliver of something pale and white shining up above.

 

“We were alive”, she whispers.

The words scarcely leave Toriel's lips before her grin turns manic, crumpling into a grimace. Sobs wrack her fading form. “We were...we were _alive._ ”

“TORIEL?”

As she opens her eyes, the illusion starts waver; hairline fractures of deepest black intrude their sky, knocking her pretty blue scene off its axis.

“TORIEL.”, Papyrus warns, watching as the void closes in on all sides, tearing jagged gashes into the far off settlement.

What should he do?

 

“I don't know what I was thinking…”

 

What _could_ he do?

 

“I don't know why I thought I could change _any_ of this.”

 

Looking at his track record, now would be the time in which he'd make things worse...

 

“We'll never escape, we'll never see them again, we'll never _feel alive again._ _Nothing ever changes,_ ** _there's nothing worth believing in-_** ”

 

...So be it. He wasn't Gaster, with plans and plots upon plans and plots. He wasn't Undyne, with her unwavering spirit...

 

“TORIEL! _YOU'RE_ WORTH BELIEVING IN!”

 

He was _Papyrus..._

 

“I KNOW IT'S HARD TO KEEP HOPE ALIVE IN A PLACE LIKE THIS. BUT YOU...YOU STILL HAVE A CHANCE. SO PLEASE, DON'T GIVE UP!”

 

He _believed_ in people…

 

“How?”

 

“THINGS CAN GET BETTER! EVEN IF YOU DON'T THINK SO! I...I PROMISE-”

 

He did _unbelievably stupid things_ …

 

“ _How,_ Papyrus?!”

 

He had a feeling this was going to be one of those stupid things.

 

“BECAUSE I KNOW WHERE YOU'VE BEEN, AND I KNOW WHERE YOU'RE HEADED.” Papyrus takes her paw into his skeletal hand; it dwarfs his own. Immediately he's struck with flashes of those same hands patting children to sleep, rolling pie crust, being clasped in a set of even larger white paws. “BECAUSE I'M DONE BEING A COWARD.”

 

She'd have it back.

He swore to it.

 

“BECAUSE I WON'T LET YOU LOSE YOURSELF HERE!”

The cracks in the sky are filled in with twilight blue; sprawling across the horizon, bedecked with more of those tiny lights. Like brushstrokes on fresh paint, Papyrus guides his magic through the traces she left behind, drowning out the old landscape in conjured dusk. Hand in hand, the pair gaze at their handiwork with fascination. Surely this wasn't enough to make everything they'd suffered alright, but...damned if it wasn't a welcome distraction.

“BECAUSE NO MATTER HOW BAD THINGS GET, YOU'RE NOT ALONE, FRIEND.”

 

He feels it, the very moment that tentative joy blooms in Toriel's soul once more. It's subtle; sneaking into his bones, pulsing through his skull until _ah, there it was._ A chuckle.

...

A _chuckle_?

 

He glances up at her, interest piqued. “WHAT'S SO FUNNY?”

Cackling, now.

“AM I MISSING SOMETHING?”

Full blown laughter. Papyrus got the feeling that maybe this was an inside joke at his expense.

“W-why did the skeleton want a friend?” A pause. “Because he was feeling _bonely_.”

Toriel barely manages to get it out though her giggling. The delivery was terrible, definitely not her best.

 

Oh well.

 

“OH MY GOD, WAS THAT A-”

More cackling.

“WAS THAT A _PUN?_ ”

He snorts; he missed puns.

 

Something bright rises steadily out of the horizon, bringing with it shades of red and orange. Clouds begin to dot the sky, fluffy and white against the dawn. Papyrus gasps; this was nothing like his storybook hell, not anymore.

“What can I say? Puns _brighten up my day_.”

Laughter echoes throughout the clearing before petering out into comfortable silence.

“Do you really believe things can change, Papyrus?”

 

He tastes cinnamon.

 

“WITH ALL MY SOUL.”

 

* * *

 

It's the forty-sixth time in two-hundred and eighty-seven days that he suggests it. Gaster knew Sans would give in…

Eventually.

In the meantime, it's the same tired excuses as usual. Gaster knows them by heart, and ‘Papyrus’ mouths along with the words as he washes a pie tin in the kitchen sink.

 

“i dunno, man. i told you before this ain't really my bag.”

Sans sits hunched over on the countertop. Clutched in his delicate little phalanges are three VIP concert tickets, embellished with the most flamboyant magenta foil Gaster had ever seen. Yet another invitation to a lavish gathering in honor of the Hero Of The Underground. This Metta-whatever sure was persistent.

 

“dates. lovey dovey shit. sunsets and flowers ‘n whatever. that ain't me. why don't you try to set her up with someone else?”

_Why don't you try to be less stubborn and infuriating?!_

Deep breaths. Impatience wouldn't do.

“BECAUSE! AS THE TWO MOST DEAR TO ME, IT ONLY SEEMS RIGHT THAT THE TWO OF YOU WOULD BE DEAR TO EACH OTHER AS WELL!”

...

“uh...dude. bro. dudebro. that's not uh…” Sans heaves a great sigh. How many times did he have to explain this? “that's not how it works. there's got to be...attraction, yanno? and an actual desire for romance and shit?”

“BUT SANS--”

“given, i’d totes play mad baker with her-”

“-SANS.”

“-beat the hell out of her cakes _if ya know what i mean_.”

“OH MY GOD, SANS NO!”

 

_Showtime. I should have been a puppeteer._

 

Like clockwork, a tall figure strides in; making a beeline for the fridge and the cinnamon butterscotch pie within. “Sans _maybe_ ”, she says, shooting him a quick wink.

“TORI! U-UM...I'LL BE GOING NOW!” ‘Papyrus’ flushes, making a show out of leaving the room. He's barely out of the kitchen a few seconds before he shouts into the doorway. “DON'T DO ANYTHING LEWD IN THE KITCHEN! WE'RE NOT ANIMALS!”

“don't worry, there won't be any jumping of bones, papy.”, Sans chuckles. With a grunt, he makes his way down from the counter, then over to the fridge as well. “besides, that's not all you're after, is it tori?”

Gaster rakes his eyes over the small skeleton. His body language is open and receptive, eyelights shining with mischief.

 

“let's have a chat.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End Of Arc One
> 
> I am both I'm proud of this, and itching to make it better But there's only so much time I have to write, so here it is.
> 
> Next chapter: Several lovely chats in which nothing terrible happens. :)


	14. Pavlov Lore, Part One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Is this wrong?  
> Feels so wrong."
> 
> Or,
> 
> EYYY I SAID UPDATES WOULD BE FASTER YEEEAH BOOOI I LOVE Y'ALL

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are getting into murky territory, my friends. I may have to update my tags.
> 
> Tw: unwelcome advances, "mild" noncon.
> 
> Flashbacks in italics, you know the drill.

_Papy mentioned it in passing, a few days after the funeral._

 

_Sans humored him, because of course he did. His brother was mourning his best friend, lost to a double suicide that no one in the Underground had seen coming._

_“i’ll think about it. tori’s been though a lot, yanno? don't wanna try to soon.”_

 

_He didn't want to try at all._

 

* * *

 

_As promised, he thinks about it._

_Tori’s a lovely woman; statuesque, regal; with puns for days. But there's never any joy in her eyes when she says them. And though she giggles right on time with his jokes, her laugh is never genuine. No more rich belly laughs he'd hear through the door to the Ruins. No more chortling snorts that she never thought to be sheepish about. Just a neat little giggle. Expedient and fair._

_Sans wasn't picky; he supposed that if he_ **_had_ ** _a type, she would be it? Maybe? Romance was never appealing to him, still wasn't, if he was honest. But even that didn't put him off as much as the_ **_look_ ** _she gives him sometimes. That wasn't simple infatuation there, no...that was something hungry and possessive, something that makes him shudder with revulsion._

_He knew Papy was really set on it, He knew it would make him happy...but…_

 

_He thinks not._

 

* * *

 

_Papyrus mulls over his breakfast; two scorched blueberry pancakes that he prods sullenly with his fork._

_“YOU HAVEN'T ASKED HER YET.”_

_“hey...you don't know that.”_

 

_He sets the fork down. Slowly. Tactfully. As if any moment he'd just whip it at Sans’ skull._

_“I DO. I KNOW BECAUSE I KNOW YOU.”_

 

_Fair enough._

_Sans concedes. “yeah. okay, so I didn't talk to her yet. no big deal. i'll get around to it eventually.”, he shrugs._

_“EVENTUALLY. LIKE YOU'D PICK UP YOUR SOCK EVENTUALLY.”_

_“i mean, papy, dude...she saw her friends murdered by a psycho human and barely escaped, do you know-”_

_“YES, I_ **_KNOW_ ** _, BECAUSE_ **_I WAS THERE_ ** _.”_

_…_

 

_“I...I'M SORRY. THAT WAS UNCALLED FOR.”_

_“nah...i get it. but...why is this so important to you? what difference does it make, man?”_

 

 _In all his years as his brother, he had never seen Papyrus truly_ **_enraged_ ** _. He was always the jovial sort; he'd sooner cut his own arm off than have a genuine outburst, Sans thought. There was a first time for everything, it seemed._

_He flings the plate of pancakes across the room with a feral snarl. It shatters, sending bits of ceramic flying to the kitchen floor. Sans ducks. Force of habit. He knew Papy wouldn't hurt him, but...he also thought that Papyrus wouldn't chuck plates across the room, and where'd that get him?_

 

 _Sans looks at him in shock. “_ **_what the fuck, papyrus?!_ ** _”_

_“IT MAKES ALL THE DIFFERENCE! YOU...” He's still frothing with anger, gripping the table hard enough for it to creak under the pressure. Papyrus takes a breath. Long, slow, deep. Then blinks at Sans, rage mostly evaporated. “YOU DESERVE HAPPINESS! NO MATTER WHAT ANYONE SAYS!”_

 

_Oh._

_Oh, that made sense. In an unhinged sort of way._

 

_Sans wasn't oblivious to what their old neighbors in Snowdin said about him. What almost the entire Underground said about him. It only made sense that Papy would hear of it. It only made sense it would hurt his poor, gentle soul._

_He decides to try._

 

* * *

 

_He doesn't have to do much. A few cheesy puns and a wink or two. Honestly...he was going for “friendly” more than “flirty”. Not that it matters much…_

_Sans gives her an inch. Tori tries to take the mile._

_“w-what are you doing?”_

_They're in the back seat of Papy’s convertible. His brother's in the driver's seat, weaving in and out of traffic like a bat out of hell. Toriel's massive hand creeps into his hoodie, ghosting over his iliac crest before settling onto his sensitive spine. Tori palms his vertebrae, her warm fingertips stroking up and down his bones in a manner reserved for lovers…_

_Which they were_ **_not_ ** _._

 

_“tori.”  Harder._

_“t-tori, stop.”  Faster._

_“i said_ **_stop!_ ** _”, he screams, scrambling out of the back seat as fast as he's able._

_“WHAT ARE YOU SHOUTING ABOUT? WE'RE ALREADY HERE!”_

_He doesn't care where they are. He doesn't care what fun they had planned today. Before he knows it, he's running; so scared out of his wits he doesn't even think to teleport._

_They shout at him in unison._

 

_“Sans? Where-”_

_“-ARE YOU GOING?”_

 

* * *

 

 _“Man, you are fucking_ _lucky_ _…”_

 

_He's at Grillby’s On The Surface, nursing a seltzer water. No booze. No rum. Sans had told himself that the one time with Alphys’ present was the last time, and he meant it. He was trying to be a better brother._

_The horribly scarred monster at the counter is a different story; knocking back vodka shots like they were water. In spite of the hood haphazardly draped over his misshapen head, Sans could tell the guy had been staring at him for a solid minute before he started talking. This couldn't be good._

_“Lazy dude like yourself must have it made! You got a damn queen wantin’ to jump them bones...your hero brother's got you set for life…”, the monster pauses. “So how'd it feel, man?”_

_His phalanges tremble in the slightest, he feels disgust roiling in his soul at the mere mention of Toriel; Sans desperately wanted to end this conversation. He replies coolly, “how'd what feel?”._

_The monster leans in closer; his breath smells like a distillery, and when Sans gets a closer look at his burned features, it clicks._ _Guy had a bone to pick._

 

 _“When you looked at your brother's fucked up face and saw it was_ _all your fau-_ _”_

_“Aaron, that's enough.”_

 

_Grillby steps in. Aaron steps back; reeling away from his heat by nothing but raw instinct. Fire was a friend once; fresh baked pies, warm friends and warmer feelings. Now, though...now fire was a thief, stealing away friends and family..._

_Stealing his face._

_Aaron shakes it off, stepping in Grillby’s face even angrier than before. “No, fuck you! All o’ you’ve been tiptoeing around this shit! Well I'm not! And that's just the shit about your own brother, man! That don't say anything for the_ _Ruins_ _-”_

 _“I said_ _shut your mouth_ _-”_

_“no, man. it's okay. i’m out.” Sans lays a few coins on the counter, then makes his way over to the door. Seems like he owed far more than a tab. “sorry to ruin your evening.”_

 

* * *

 

Tori sits at their kitchen table, taking dainty bites out of her slice of pie. The way she gazes at him, full of hunger and lust and conquest...makes his metaphorical skin crawl. Man, he wanted to scrub himself raw.

“You wanted to talk, love?”

 

Ew.

 

“it's been one hell of a year, hasn't it? finally made it topside. you _movin’ in_ …”

He grits his teeth at that. Because _of course_ his brother would want his ‘BEST FRIEND AND SOON TO BE SISTER IN LAW‘ to move in. She smiles, demurely.

“that stuff with the human.”

Aaand the smile is gone. Good riddance.

 

“lot of heavy shit in such a short time. which is why i _get_ why papy’s going through all these hoops to make me _his_ idea of happy. he's just that kind of guy.”

Tori nods. So understanding. She reaches across the table to take his hand...only to grasp empty air as he pulls a cigarette from his pocket.

“my brother's pretty cool...way cooler than I deserve, yanno? and coming face to face with almost bitin’ the dust really, uh...really changed him. part of me wonders if this whole ‘setting us up together’ thing is just him trying to fill a void or somethin’...”

He lights the cigarette, taking a drag off of it before he continues. Eyelights gone. Voice hard and unyielding.

“that don't explain _you._ ”

 

Tori nearly chokes on her pie.

 

“see, all jokes aside...you're old enough to know when someone's not down. you've got a marriage under your belt, all that good shit. the idea of consent ain't news to you.”

Gaster fumes. How dare he. How _dare_ he. **_How dare-_ **

“which is why i’m saying…”

 

**_You insolent, selfish bastard!_ **

 

“ **_no._ ** ”

 

* * *

 

This was it. The day Mettaton and Blooky had spent months preparing for. The day they were going to, with Asgore’s help, bring the two worst murderers the Underground had ever seen to justice. It had taken them so long to even be able request an audience; their king was a busy Monster, it seemed.

When they arrive, their first impression is of how _different_ Asgore’s office is from what they're expecting. The embassy is a quaint, drab little building, with none of the charm and warmth of their capital, the castle, or New Home for that matter. The steady click-clack of Mettaton’s heels echo throughout the halls.

The second impression, and that which gave Mettaton pause, is how utterly _haggard_ their king looks. His mane is stringy; unkempt and sticking up at odd angles. The bags under his eyes give away the fact that he hadn't had a decent night's rest in weeks.

 

“Howdy, Mettaton. Napstablook. I've heard that you've been waiting quite some time to see me. Might I offer you some tea…?”

“No, that won't be necessary.” Mettaton waves off his offer. “Ghosts and all.”

 

The king looks perplexed for a moment, until the pieces click together. What an exquisite body for a ghost! Such detail! It was clear someone put a lot of love into it. “Ah! I see! Well, right on with it then. What brings you here today?”

Surprisingly, Blooky takes the lead; floating towards the desk with purpose as their cousin closes the door behind them.

“we know who set the fire.”, Blooky murmurs. “who _really_ set the fire.”

All the color drains out of Asgore's face. He's ashen, pale, nearly dumbstruck by the words that leave Blooky’s mouth. “...Pardon?”

“We have evidence that makes it clear, without a doubt, that no _human_ set that fire.”, Mettaton says as he plucks a disk from his chassis. “That it was a _Monster._ A Monster with an accomplice that murdered Alphys to cover their tracks.”

“But Alphys…”, he blinks, quizzically, before holding his sagging head in his hands. “How...how long have you known?”

“Since-”

 

“a while.”

To Mettaton's shock, Blooky cuts him off and stops him mid stride, warning him off handing Asgore the disk with a fearful shake of their head. What were they afraid of? This was what they had been working towards for months now! It didn't make sense!

“We must apprehend them. _Now._ I want names, evidence, all the information you have! Who did this?! What kind of sick individuals could do this-”

“Toriel.”, Mettaton informs him, tucking away their evidence. “Toriel and...Papyrus.”

 

There's silence. A long, sickening silence that stretches out for what feels like ages. Mettaton chalks it up as shock until bellowing chortles erupt from Asgore's mouth. The fuck?

“Is this...your idea of a joke? Is there a camera somewhere? This is a terrible prank to pull on an old man…”, he sighs, wiping an errant tear from his eyes.

Turning to Blooky, Mettaton can't help but admire the way his timid cousin holds themself together. He himself was livid, he could only imagine how Blooky felt. Is that why they had warned him off of handing over the evidence? Mettaton never expected not to be taken seriously.

His cousin doesn't waver, doesn't fade or disappear as they speak. “no. i saw _your wife_ . i saw her raze the ruins to ash, murder _my friends._ ”

“We have evidence that links the two to the Ruins and places Papyrus where Alphys was murdered-”

“She wasn't _murdered!_ She was unwell! Everyone in the Underground knew it!”, Asgore roars. The way he dares to speak about his dead friend makes Mettaton want to knock him out on principle, king or not. He rises from his seat, towering over the two of them. “And am I supposed to believe that my _wife_ , the sole survivor of that terrible ordeal, lied about the fire and set it herself?!”

 

Oh...so that's how it was. He wouldn't dare put his beloved queen in the crossfire of an investigation, would he? Fucking coward.

“Now you listen here-!”

“No, _you_ listen!”, he snarls. “I don't want to hear another word of this. Not _one._ None of this leaves this room.”

 

Blooky was right on their hunch, it seemed.

 

“Let's say, hypothetically speaking, you were correct. Do you have even the _slightest,_ the _foggiest_ idea of what that would do to our people?” Asgore slams his fist upon the desk, sending papers and knick knacks flying. He's seething, nearly frothing at the mouth with anger. “Our hero, a cold-blooded murderer! Our queen, the perpetrator of the biggest massacre to hit the Underground! _Do you have any idea what that would do for morale?!_ Not to mention the _humans!_ ”

 

Halting his fury, Asgore turns to the two of them. Blooky, though trembling, looks up at him with a show of resolve that he's determined to break. Mettaton looked as if he wanted to snap off his horns and impale him with them. But they're tight-lipped, not bothering to protest...which means...

 

“Oh, fancy that! Neither of you thought that far ahead, now did you? Tell me, what's your petty evidence against billions! _Billions_ of humans just waiting for us to make one wrong move to justify sticking us back under a mountain or dusting us outright!?”

 

Silence.

 

“Hm? Nothing to say?”

 

Blooky is the first to break his gaze, turning solemnly to their cousin. Resolve was no longer an issue with _that_ one; they wouldn't want to get anyone hurt.

  
“Good. _Get the hell out of my sight_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BOI! I AM SO EXCITED TO KICK OFF THIS ARC!
> 
> For those of you who may not know, songs are my outline! You can listen along to the awful here:  
> barkbark's bad time tunes: http://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLOKrXUnlAcyx37BXL-x936u_Vvxc4uD6b
> 
> The previous chapter needed a playlist all its own to carry me through it, here's a link if you'd like to listen:  
> Wrong(ed): http://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLOKrXUnlAcywkGuJ4zwHtci3Znn8YMBzu
> 
> I haven't said this in a while, but check out Overboner's work! She's a loveable nerd!


	15. Pavlov Lore, Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Dress the tapeworm as pet..."
> 
> Or,
> 
> Gaster is a bastard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am exhausted, and totes plan on editing this a bit this weekend, sorry for the wait!
> 
> Tw: Gaster is a creep/bastard/asshole, alcoholism, noncon references

_It's a month before Toriel moves in._

 

_Sans finally makes it home from the hot dog stand, taking the time to just relax. Take a load off. Melt into the couch if he's lucky. He had wanted to celebrate; it had been almost six months that he'd been sober. No rum, no booze, nothing. Going to Grillby’s would be pushing it, he thinks. He'd either get tempted by everyone drinking around him, or piss off the patrons by existing._

_Instead, he picks his favorite pastime; a good, long nap! The couch was unchristened as of yet; Papyrus wouldn't be caught dead sleeping, let alone on their new couch. That left him. He wasn't complaining. Sans sags into the couch cushions with a groan before stretching out on the length of it. Not that there was much of himself to stretch...ooh, this was nice. Papyrus always did buy the good shit._

 

_He drifts into a peaceful, dreamless sleep._

_Things were good._

 

* * *

 

 _He wakes up with a jolt; firm paws are trailing up his mandible. He supposed he should had have seen something coming; after that...incident...in the car, Tori had been giving him longing glances for over a solid week, after all. But this is decidedly_ _not_ _what he had expected. She had come over, unannounced it had seemed._

_It was just a touch._

_It was just a touch..._

 

_He stifles the urge to shortcut away from her nonetheless._

 

_“Good evening Sans. Did you get any rest?”_

_She gazes down at him in what could pass as loving concern; all dewy eyes and parted lips. Why was she like this? All of the stories he ever heard about the queen painted her as both kind and sensible. There was nothing sensible about being a fucking creep._

_“i mean, i was _ _…can you like...not do that?”_

 _Tori still beams at him, looking as if any moment she'd reach out and caress him. Again. Without asking. He_ _had_ _to nip this in the bud. This whole ‘unsolicited attention’ thing had to stop. The...thing...in the car was bad enough, but she was in his_ _house_ _now..._

 

_She was…_

_In his house._

 

_“wait, how’d you even get in here?”_

 

_His magic is in a frenzy, just itching to blast her to hell. The only thing keeping her from being dustpan fodder is the fact that Papyrus was fond of her._

 

_“Oh silly!”, she titters. “I have a key!”_

 

 _...A bit too  _ _fond._

 

* * *

 

After their little chat in the kitchen, Sans had promptly escorted Tori out the front door. To his surprise, she didn't protest, didn't put up a fuss; just gave him her key and left without a word. One problem down. All that was left to do now was find a way to give her all her belongings back with as little interaction as possible; being in the same room with her was _not_ on Sans’ agenda.

He goes to work with a spring in his step and a weight off his shoulders. What a difference her departure made; he hadn't really given it too much thought, but...being in the same house as her was throwing his entire demeanor off. It seemed like she never went out, never slept, never did _anything_ but _be a fucking creep_ to him.

 

No matter; those days were over.

 

Closing up the hot dog stand for the evening, Sans mulls over the day's events. How was he going to explain this to Papyrus? It's not as if his savings won't cover the cost of her portion of the bills, so there's no worries on that end. No, what worries him is different; Papy was...lacking in the social department lately. Tori filled that niche quite nicely, though it seemed like all they did was stay awake at ungodly hours.

The front door to their flat ambles into view, illuminated by the sickly yellow streetlamps. The living room light was on. Shit. Papy was waiting for him to arrive so they could discuss his new “bestie’s” departure, no doubt. With a sigh, he turns the knob, preparing for the tongue-lashing of a lifetime.

It's quiet when he opens the door. Actually, no...there's muffled sniffling coming from the kitchen. Sans shuffles along towards the source, dread filling each step as the scent of cheap booze sends his senses reeling.

 

“whoa. papy…”

 

“LEAVE M-ME ALONE…”

 

Papyrus is...not well. He's half sitting, half sprawled out on the kitchen table; nursing a mostly empty bottle of bottle of beer. There's a tumbler filled with what Sans desperately hopes is water. This was...not at all what he'd expected from his little brother.

 

“so uh...it's like that, huh? i get that you're disappointed and all but...seriously?”

He approaches Papyrus, damn near stumbling over the empty bottles on the floor in the process, only for Papy to turn his back on him; cradling that drink like it's a long lost lover.

“put that down. c’mon.”

Tentatively, Sans tries in vain to pluck his brother's phalanges from around the bottle. He wanted to throw it. He wanted to smash every single bottle in their house. Papy wasn't like this. No, Papy was the _opposite_ of this. Or...at least that's what his brother would have him think. Was he this far gone and Sans didn't even notice?

 

“I THOUGHT YOU WERE PAST BEING SELFISH.”, Papyrus slurs between sniffles. “EVERYTHING I'VE DONE, **EVERYTHING** HAS BEEN FOR **YOUR** HAPPINESS! SO WHY CAN'T YOU JUST…WHY CAN'T YOU **TRY**?”

Sans looks on with a wince as Papy goes on, gesturing wildly enough that beer spills onto the cold tile floor. He wasn't _wrong_...the whole thing with the Ruins could have been avoided if Papy hadn't considered his happiness. If he was at his post, then he could've easily taken a shortcut when the human went on their rampage. This was all stuff he had mulled over countless times; but the fact that it's coming from his brother of all people makes him want to crawl in a hole.

“THINGS COULD BE LIKE THEY WERE BEFORE! THINGS COULD BE **EVEN BETTER** THAN THEY WERE BEFORE! WE COULD HAVE FRIENDS AGAIN! I COULD HAVE A BESTIE AGAIN! WE COULD ALL BE HAPPY, IF YOU JUST...”

Sans reaches out to hug him, ignoring the outburst and the way he quakes in his arms. His brother was long overdue for this talk, it seemed.

“dude...this isn't about a date, or friends, or even about tori, is it? nah, this is about you. have you...have you talked to anyone about what happened? like a doctor or counselor, or…”

The bitter chuckle erupting from Papyrus’ mouth isn't like him at all; like something cynical took root and made itself at home in his bones. “OH YES, BECAUSE THERE'S A HUGE SELECTION TO CHOOSE FROM! PLENTY OF HUMAN DOCTORS OUT THERE WHO WANT TO LOOK AT THE VERY PICTURE OF DEATH AND HAVE A DEEP, HEARTFELT CHAT! PLENTY OF MONSTERS WHO WANT TO WATCH THEIR GLORIOUS HERO FALL TO PIECES, WOULDN'T YOU KNOW IT!”

 

“hey, papy…”, Sans murmurs, giving him a nudge. “you can always talk to _me_ , yanno?”

 

“ON ONE CONDITION…”

 

He rises shakily from the table, stepping over  toward the cupboard and grabbing another tumbler.

 

“i, uh...i’d rather not-”

 

Papyrus fixes him with steely gaze that, although bleary, hints that he'd not be taking no for an answer. “YOUR YOUNGER BROTHER IS PLASTERED ON THE KITCHEN TABLE, ALONE AND FRIENDLESS. AT THE VERY LEAST SPARE ME THE INDIGNITY OF BEING A LONELY DRUNK.”, he grumbles as he pours Sans a drink.

 

“alright, _fine._ just the one, though. remember what i told you, way back when?”

 

“YES, YES ‘DRINKING SHOULD BE A SOCIAL, HAPPY PASTIME’. I AM...REALLY LACKING IN THE HAPPY! AND THE SOCIAL! DOES THIS COUNT AS SOCIAL-”

“don't drink too much, don't...self medicate. none of that lame shit. don't mix beer and…”

 

Sans takes a whiff of the glass thrust his way. There's...not much to work with in terms of scent. Mildly alcoholic, maybe? He shrugs, then tips it back in one gulp…

And nearly chokes on what feels like battery acid in his throat.

 

“the fuck is _this?_ ”, he nearly gags. Sipping his own glass, Papy slides the bottle to him from across the table. “fucking _everclear?_ this is 190 proof, **_how many of these did you-_ ** ”

Sans hacks, shaking off the coughing fit brewing in his chest. This was bad. Oh, this was bad. Of all the ways to slip, this had to have been the worst. No in between, no gradual fuck ups here and there. No ‘one and done’ with mildly tipsy as his cut-off. Nope, this was a one way ticket to drunk as a skunk. He’d have been better off just slacking on sobriety this entire time. Sans slumps onto the table, cradling his skull in his hands.

 

“oh my _god._ ”

 

“I AM BEGINNING TO REGRET MY BEVERAGE CHOICES.”

 

“that makes two of us.”

 

* * *

 

Later that night, Gaster lifts a passed-out Sans from the drool puddle beneath him. There's no resistance when ‘Papyrus’ carries him bridal style to his messy bedroom, just gentle snoring, and as he tucks him into bed Gaster feels impatient...

He reaches out, trailing gentle, greedy phalanges down his mandible, his sternum, finally hesitating when he almost hooks his fingers into Sans dainty little ribs. He could have him right now, if he wanted. It's not like Sans could fight him in this state. He could leave him in ruins, mewling and broken; rut him into dust if he wanted, and he wouldn't even know-

 

Wait.

 

What was he doing?

 

Of course he'd want him to know. That was the entire point!

Sans snuggles deeper into the plush sheets, and Gaster gives his skull a gentle pat before rising from the bed. He closes the door with a muffled click, then sets about cleaning up the kitchen.

 

_‘That was...incredibly simple. Though I would have much preferred to leave alcohol out of this.’_

He picks up the bottle of Everclear; humans were such strange creatures, truly. The appeal of alcohol wasn't lost on him, but _this_? This so close to pure ethanol, it was a death wish. The bottle is hidden away in the cupboard, far from Sans’ reach.

 

_‘The empty beer bottles on the floor were a nice touch.’_

Gaster picks up the empties, being careful not to make too much noise. He had drank maybe two, tops; the contents of the rest were dumped into the sink. He wouldn't _dare_ be caught too inebriated...not with _those two_ ; Papyrus was bad enough before, when he still had a bit of fight left in him. Pair him with an enraged Toriel, and that spelled out trouble.

Given, the two of them had been silent for some time. Depending on how he looked at it, that was either a blessing or a curse. Sure, he could enjoy his bodies in peace; there had been no interference by them in the least. But he couldn't _read_ Toriel, either. Gaster could mimic Papyrus in his sleep; slipping into that role was like...wearing your favorite pair of pajamas. They're simple, they're comfortable, you feel _at home in them_. But Toriel...that was a mess.

Her memories, her tics, her gestures...all locked away. Gaster knew it was just in the void, with her; it's not like it could be anywhere else. But he had no such desire to go poking around, and since the two of them weren't feeling particularly talkative or bothersome, well...that left him at an impasse.

 

_‘I'll just have to make do, I suppose.’_

 

Lost in thought, he downs the glass of plain old tap water he'd been sipping all night. Something had to give. Sans was so, so stubborn when it came to things like this. Gaster thought that changing the source of his romantic attentions would help move things along but, once again, Sans was proving difficult to persuade. It seemed the one thing he'd ever allow himself to be swayed by was...Papyrus…

 

Ah...now there's a thought, and a painfully obvious one at that. He'd do anything, _anything_ to keep Papyrus happy. Oh, why hadn't he thought of this before!

 

_‘Rest up, Sans. Tomorrow will be a busy day.’_

 

* * *

 

“RISE AND SHINE, LAZYBONES!”

The morning light sears his sockets, but it's nowhere near as painful as his brother's voice reverberating through Sans’ skull. His mouth is dry, though his tongue sticks to the roof of his mouth like he'd eaten an entire pack of glue sticks.

 

“wuh...what?”, Sans groans, trying and failing to lift his head off the pillow. Oh…this was nowhere near fun.

“WE'VE BEEN INVITED TO BRUNCH AT NOON!”, Papyrus chirps. How the fuck was he so...awake? And not miserable? He must have an alcohol tolerance like a brick wall. “A _ROYAL_ BRUNCH!”

 

Sans blinks. Once. Twice.

 

“...what?”

 

“IS THAT THE ONLY THING YOU CAN…”, Papyrus huffs in protest. “TORI. US. BREAKFAST FOODSTUFFS. HER TREAT.”

“bangin’.”

 

* * *

 

The ride to the restaurant is full of surprises, if only for the fact that Papyrus wasn't driving like a psycho for once. Sans curls up in his soiled hoodie; skull pressed against the coolness of the window, letting the lull of the engine drift him back to sleep. He manages to catch a few winks in the passenger seat, and is all but comatose when they finally arrive.

It's a posh little bistro; nice open floor plan, big windows. The set up is clean and modern, filled with bright colors and even brighter natural light. Light which makes Sans want to cram his bony fists into his own sockets.

Toriel is already present, though she hasn't spotted them yet. She stares dreamily out the window, idly stirring her tea while tapping her claws on the table.

“PSST. SANS. _SANS._ ”, Papyrus nudges his brother excitedly, ignoring the nauseated groan that escapes him. “GUESS WHAT?”

“what, papy? and why are we shout-whispering?”

“BECAUSE IT’S TOP SECRET! AND I AM ALSO! EXTREMELY EXCITED! FOR I HAVE SOME TRULY AMAZING NEWS!” He looks about ready to vibrate out of his clothes, and Sans can't help but to smile at his antics; his brother was in much better spirits than the night before. “TORIEL AND I TALKED EARLIER...SHE IS CONSIDERING GIVING ME THE PRESTIGIOUS TITLE OF ‘QUEEN’S GUARD’! CAN YOU IMAGINE? I'LL FINALLY...I'LL FINALLY…”

The excitement in his voice peters out, leaving behind something vulnerable and unsure. Ah, shit. Sans knew where this was going, there's no way he couldn't. If there's one thing he learned last night, it was that Undyne’s death left a hole in Papy that he'd been desperate to fill. Maybe this could be it? Papy looks down at him, suddenly unsure; faint little eyelights sparkling with unshed tears. “DO YOU...DO YOU THINK UNDYNE WOULD BE PROUD?”

“i know so. congratulations, bro.”, he says, giving him a reassuring pat on the back. “now let's go see tori.”

Papyrus hesitates. Did he need another minute? Sans was in no rush to see Toriel, so he didn't mind. Besides, the idea of making her wait _did_ sound appealing. “DO YOU MIND IF I GET SOME FRESH AIR FIRST? I'M A BIT...MISTY. NOBODY WANTS A GUARD WITH AN UNLIMITED SUPPLY OF TEARS!”

 

Poor Papy.

 

“do what you gotta. you know where i’ll be.” With a sheepish nod, he makes his way to the door, only for Sans to stop him in his tracks.

“hey.” Sans looks up at his brother, truly _looks_ at him for the first time in ages. Here he was; the babybones he had tried to raise up fine and true, the gangly adolescent who desperately wanted a friend, and finally...the man, the hero that stood before him, right on the brink of achieving a dream. He'd be a liar if he said it didn't make even _him_ a bit misty.

 

“i love you, papy.”

 

“I LOVE YOU TOO, SANS.”

 

* * *

 

An enthusiastic Toriel greets him when he shuffles alone towards the table. “Sans! How wonderful you could make it! Please, have a seat.” She gestures to the plush seat across from her, then beckons to someone from across the room.

Sans all but sinks into the chair. This was too much going on for noon. All he wanted to do was curl up and sleep off the grogginess in his skull and the lead in his bones. A well-dressed human approaches, gazing at him intently. The hell did they want? A picture? Seconds pass...the human starts to fidget…

 

Oh shit, they're waiting on him to order. Cause...they're a waiter. Whoops.

“uh, just water. actually, make that an orange juice.”

The waiter heaves a sigh of relief before rushing off to the kitchen. Sans could relate. Sometimes you just wanna get the fuck away from people. Case in point…

Tori takes a sip of her tea, setting the teacup down with a faint clink before she speaks. Oh, this was gonna be good. Too bad he was in no such mood. “Sans. I know you really would rather not see me, but...I wanted to apologize. I feel that my attentions were...less than welcome.”

 

“no shit.”

 

He pokes at the threads of the tablecloth, stifling a yawn as he looks upon the queen with a bored expression. Just because she was apologizing didn't mean he had to pay attention to it. Toriel looks taken aback, but he's in no such condition to care. He didn't owe her shit, let alone his time. “look...that's awful big of you to apologize, but I'm not changing my mind-”

“And I wouldn't expect you to, Sans! I am simply extending an olive branch; it's entirely up to you if you wish not to take it!”

There's something unspoken in her statement, gnawing at his muddled mind. Sans watches intently as she wrings her fuzzy paws in her lap, glancing anxiously towards the restroom.

“...what brought all this on?”

“Oh, you know...what better way to smooth things over between friends than a lovely outing together-”

“i am _not your friend_ .”, he snaps at her. “you're _his_ friend. i’m _his_ brother. that's all this is.”

 

That seems to drain her of any pretenses of being contrite. Instead, she offers him a knowing smile, then takes a long sip of her tea.

“You're right, Sans. I am his friend.” Tori leans in from across the table as she speaks, low and private, and _oh so condescending_ . “And unlike you, I am _worried_ about him. Does he seems a bit...glum as of late? Not himself?”

 

“...how the hell would you know?”

 

“How could I not?”, she scoffs. “He is a dear friend! I can only hope his new position is... _enough_ to uplift his spirits.”

 

“precisely what in the fuck are you getting at?”, Sans snarls. “he'd be living his dream. he'd be everything undyne believed he could be. why wouldn't it be enough?” How dare she? Who the _fuck_ was she to think she knew what Papy needed better than he did? She barely knew him; she didn't raise him, didn't tuck him in and read him stories as a babybones-

His thoughts are derailed by Toriel’s gentle tsking. “Can I be frank with you for a moment, Sans?”, she asks. Sans didn't know why she bothered to even ask him; maybe she liked the sound of her own voice?

“You and I, despite our differences, both have Papyrus’ best interests at heart, yes?”

 

Or maybe…just maybe...

 

“Then allow me to illuminate the situation for you further. His best friend is _dead_ . He's _lonely_ , as he's been for some time _._ And the best thing for him is for the _two_ of us to work together to make him happy. You _do_ want your brother to achieve his dream, to be happy, right?”

...She liked giving him the illusion of choice.

Tori drinks him in, predatory and full of guile; her proposal stated with nary a word. Because, as she well knew, and as Sans was loath to admit; when it came to Papyrus’ well-being...his happiness, his _everything_ ...Sans would do _anything._ He was no stranger to doing dirt for his brother; working multiple jobs and several side hustles just to raise Papy…

“You uphold _your_ end...and he'll become all he ever dreamed. Do we have an accord, love?”

...Guess it was time to add ‘Putting Up With Toriel’s Bullshit’ to the list.

She beams at him, full of pearly whites and unspoken threats. The tension bleeds out of his posture, giving way to an easy smile and a relaxed slouch. Sans chuckles; a short bark of a laugh, straight from the gut and dripping with amusement. So she wanted to play, huh? Fair enough. No point in remaining outwardly hostile; that was no longer the name of the game. “yanno...there's this show he's been raving about going to see; all of us, together. but i’m warning you right now…”

Though pupil of his left eye blazes intensely, he's the very picture of calm. “if you touch me, if you even _breathe on me wrong_ , i’m out. as long as he's happy, and you're not...fuckin’ _handsy_...we don't have a problem.”

If she's intimidated by his display, she certainly doesn't look it; if anything she looked...distracted. Uncomfortable, even.

 

“Understood, Sans. If you'll excuse me.”

 

* * *

 

 _‘I am_ **_not_ ** _paid enough for this.’_

The waiter sits at the bar, having clocked out early for break much to the dismay of management. Fuck ‘em. None of them had to serve nine foot tall goat women, or were getting menacing looks from (possibly?) undead skeletons! To hell with _all_ of that!

 

“GREETINGS, HUMAN!”

 

_‘Oh god…’_

They swivel atop the stool, only to be face to chest with yet another spooky, scary skeleton. A scream dies in their throat, but they manage to stutter out a greeting. “C-c-can I help you?”

 

“YES, INDEED! IT APPEARS MY BROTHER MESSED UP OUR ORDER! I WOULD LIKE TO RECTIFY IT POSTHASTE!”

 

Damn it all, they were on break, _on break!_

“Oh. Um. Okay?”

 

As if sensing their irritation, the tall skeleton slips them a 50 dollar bill. Whoa, what? At this rate, Monsters could bug them on break _all_ the time! They spring to their feet with a grin, fetching an apron off the counter “What did he want instead?”

“BOTTOMLESS MIMOSAS!”, he chirps. “AND DO BE DISCREET, HE SEEMS TO BE IN A _MOOD_.”

 

* * *

 

It itches.

It itches.

It always fucking _itches_.

Huddled half undressed in the very last stall of the ladies room, Gaster fights the urge to rip his host's skin asunder. Flesh was so _irritating!_ If he started to claw at it here, he might not stop. He rubs at the now scarred flesh of his host's back, patchy and devoid of fur in places, riddled with countless branches of ingrown shrapnel. It still moves; when _didn't_ it move?! The bits of himself grew endlessly, tirelessly; as sure as the sensation was endless, as sure as he'd never tire. And though the prickling, creeping feeling of his own essence invading the body he usurped is distracting, not to mention destructive, he can't help but to smile in the wake of it. A fresh stream of black-flecked dust seeps from his snout. Time was running out for this vessel, true...but with all he had gleaned from this time around, it was by no means a waste! He was a scientist after all; trial and error was a necessity for success!

Next time...next time he'd have to be more considerate of her frailties.

 

* * *

 

The well-dressed human from before trots over to the table bearing drinks. Sans sits, staring off into the window thoughtfully, brow furrowed.

Heh. She got him _good._ He had never thought to expect that kind of manipulation from the damn _queen_ , of all people. Tori read him well. She had to have known he'd play along with...whatever the fuck she wanted. So...that was it then? Papy gets to be a guard, like he always wanted? And he'd...entertain...Tori.

Sans takes a sip of his orange juice; the mild bite of alcohol barely even registering on his tongue. Oh well. It's okay to slip. He could quit again tomorrow. Rounding the corner comes Papyrus, sporting a million watt smile and a twinkle in his sockets that Sans hadn't seen since before the human incident. He looked... _happy._

It was up to him to make sure he stayed that way.

Things could be worse, right?


End file.
